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!!!1 11 *} c ;i r W. iff, 



Loving Companion and JJevotod Friend, 



Til IS BOOK. 



/» affei-t.oiuilijhi i ns cr i biil . 



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"o'^'-i^.'SixC'! 







A WORD, FROM A FRIEND, 



TO THE AUTHOR. 



It is, of a Truth, too common that 
the World hath little Care of its chief- 
eft Treafures, whereby too often it hath 
loft divers Pearls, and, indeed, firft-water 
Gems, that had been well coveted by 
the lordlieft Wifhes. I fpeak not, {im- 
ply, of earthly Treafures, but of Jewels 
more precious and of greater Worth 
than kingly Ranfoms, — none other than 
the goodly Thoughts and Imaginations 
of Genius, writ for the Lovers of Truth 
and Beauty, and finking, plummet-deep, 
into the People's Hearts, there, perad- 
venture, to beget other fair Images, and 
gentle Thoughts. Nor fhould this, 
haply, give Caufe for fpecial Wonder: 
inafmuch as moft Men are wont to clofe 







Vv^^__ Duganne. _^^^ 

if^ iv 



their Eyes to natural Beauties which lie 
at their own Doors, journeying far to 
praife the Rarities of other Lands, though 
thefe be in no Refped: fairer or richer 
than their own. It were a kindly Pur- 
pofe to corred: this Hollownefs of Judg- 
ment, and to feek to give fair Setting to 
our native Gems, that the public Eye 
may difcern aright their intrinfic Excel- 
lence. For this Reason I have deemed 
it Shame, that one fo notably worthy as 
yourfelf fhould go unremembered — one 
whofe Verfes are welcomed gladly into 
Men's Souls — whofe noble Lyrics have 
been the timely Movers of Governmental 
Reforms — whofe "Iron Lyre" hath 
ftruck refponlive Chord in the Breaft of 
the Man of Labor, teaching him the 
divine Dignity of his Calling— -whofe 
ftirring Strains have cheered the ftrug- 
gling Patriot in the Van of European 
Freedom, and whofe tenderer Harp has 

ever 







w--? Poetical Works. -^-.r^i^ 



I ever been touched for the Moving of 
I pure Thoughts and loving Impulfes. 
I And if, as Horace felicitoufly expreffeth 
i it in his De Arte Poetica, the true 
Poet 

" Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci, 
" Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo," 

then, surely, your own Claims may nei- 
ther be set aside wantonly nor heedleflly 
overlooked. And if Aught elfe were 
wanting (apart from its deferving Qiiali- 
ties) to quicken my Defire to behold your 
Verfe, in fynthetic Garb, winning the 
Recognition of all true Hearts, this 
were largely fupplied by the earneft Wifh 
of Friends (albeit to you unknown) to 
poffefs a full Colleftion of thofe fcatter- 
ed Songs which, marked by real Saxon 
Breadth and Sturdinefs, prove that there 
I lives at leafl: one native Bard, who quaffs 
I " the Well of Englifh undefiled." 
I I pray you, then, as a Courtefy 

i ^™"''"^ A 
#^,_. _ ^J^ 






Duganne. 



w 

growing out of our long-time Friend- A 
£hip, that you do a like Juftice to yourfelf 
and to your Friends, by allowing me to 
put forth in fitting Guife a complete 
Book of your Poefy. For, as the wife 
Bacon faith : " How many Things are 

* there which a Man cannot, with any 

* Face or Comelinefs, fay or do himfelf ! 
' A Man can fcarce allege his own 
' Merits with Modefty, much lefs extol 
' them; a Man cannot fometimes brook 
' to fupplicate or beg ; and a Number 
*• of the like : but all thefe things are 
' graceful in a Friend's Mouth, which 
' are blufhing in a Man's own." 

And I fhall not reft, therefore, till the 
good Works of my Friend fhall gain 
from the World the fame Meed of Praife, 
which myfelf would fain beftow ; ftamp- 
ing his Deferts with that appofite Quo- 
tation from Cervantes, (in his never-to- 

be- 



^m 





Poetical Works. 




be-too-much-admired work, the Adven- 
tures of Don Quixote de la Mancha) : 

" La dulciffima Pocfia 
" En dulciffimos Concetos 
" Altos, graves, y difcrctos." 

Quite happy I iliall be to have fpeedy 
Answer : 

Meanwhile, 

My dear Author, 
I remain, 

Moft fincerely, 

Your friend, 



James Lesley, Jr. 



Ironcroft, High-Street, 
Phila., Jan., 1855. 




^4^ 




QjU^ Duganne. 



< A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR 

TO HIS FRIEND. 



Was it all a Fable, my Friend, the Ex- 
iftence of Florida's Fountain, whence old 
Ponce de Leon fought to drink perpetual 
Youth ? As I now here lie toffing upon 
my Sick-bed, your welcome Miflive 
comes to wile me into Oblivion of 
Suffering. May not, then, the Well- 
fprings of Friendfhip yield a Draught 
ftrengthening as the Elixir of Life itfelf ? 
For your Wifh regarding my humble 
" Works," it is granted as foon as afked ; 
and, believe me, there is no one to 
whofe Keeping I would more gladly 
confide my good Name in Life, or my 
pofthumous Fame, fhould I foon follow 
the dear ones whofe Departure leaves me 
very lonely in the World. And to you, 

who 




» 



'^^■^Qjl^ Poetical Works. 



.-Sl-I 



& 




who know that it is my Wont ever to rf 
" take Arms againft a Siege of Troubles, i 
and by oppofing end them," I deem it [ 
no Shame to own that were it not for 
fuch friendly Hearts as your own and a 
few we both love, I fhould find little 
elfe to cheer my Muse but the ftern 
Requirements of Duty. 



Strong-fwimming, with his over-weary Bread 

The rough Wave battling, — while his outftrctched Hand 
Slow ilruggles toward the Land, — 
The ftorm-beat Seaman ncars the wreck-ftrewn Strand: 



Caft leaward, by the Breakers' billowy Crcft, 

His Strength o'er wreftled, and his Heart beat back 
Into the Midnight black. 
With dying Cry he finks amid the Wrack ! 

III. 

So toiling, wrefthiig through the billowy Wafte, 
His lifted Harp out-reaching to the World, — 
So, feaward hurl'd, — 
The ftruggling Bard to unknown Doom is whirl'd : 



Save, only, when by friendly Hand embraced. 
Upheld o'er Death by Brother-grafp like thine. 
He fpurns the ftormy Brine, 
And makes his Heart his Harp — as I do mine. 




^'"^^^^ 





Duganne. 



That your Tafte will fecure the Pre- 
fentation of my " Mufe " in a " fitting 
Guife " I have no doubt, and if fhe find 
that Favor with the World which your 
Friendfhip would anticipate, I shall, I am 
fure, have no Reafon to complain. 
I remain, 

My dear Lesley, 

Faithfully yours. 

The Author. 



-<^=;^ 



?HA-C 



Poetical Works. 



^^^ 



Cljt Ulissi0n of Jntdkcf. 



,-^S^^- 




Duganne. 



INTELLECTUALLY AND MOKALLY 

iax i\t 6fl0i( si iwmanitg, 

THIS POEM 

IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED. 




A 




Poetical Works. 




©|p jKisxion of lMh± 



PART FIRST. 



THE VISION. 



,,^ J^ xxj .was a student in the schools of earth — 

r'^wT^ '' I '"'fis a wrestler in the strife for gain — 

'i^^tj *~bi?JJ~' Until a Voice, which was not of myself, 

[ P-^f ^o.stJ Out-led my soul from life. My refluent 

■ii_r -z^ fe^ •' 

thought. 

Upon the electric wires of wondrous sleep. 

Had compassed the immeasurable Past, 

And journeyed with the Ages ! I had trod 

The ice-tesselated temples whose dread shrines 

Are the upthrown vitals of extinct volcanoes ; 

Whose columns are gnarled clouds, — whose awful arch 

Springs through the mazy stars — its architraves 

The garnered winds — its visionless capitals 

The footstools of that unseen deity 

Whom men call Science — 

And my soul had sunk — 

Even from those wildering deserts it had sunk, 

Sounding a measureless deepness, through the sweep 

Of whirlpools that ingulf the Northern seas, 

Down to the interminable caves of Ocean ! 

'3 





Duganne. 



(i) 



MISSION or ISTELLEOT. 




I trod the nnfathomed waters, — where the forms 
Of vasty snakes like islands lie entombed — 
I passed the innumerable host of Dead, 
Marshaled like annies, where attraction wanes, 
And bodies have no weight. I climbed the hills 
Of long-forgotten treasm'es — ^heaps of gold, 
And piles of gorgeous merehandry, that years 
And ages have collected, in the marts 
Of that dead empire Ocean — whence again 
No caravan shall bear them — whence not one 
Of all the uncounted fleets that in the ports 
Of sunless silence ride in endless lines. 
Shall voyage forth — beneath the flag of Mammon. 

Cold Science — throned upon her awful snows ! 
And Mammon — reigning o'er the withered wrecks 
Of a dead ocean ! — these my soul surveyed. 
Like one who lifts the mantle of his fate, 
And seeth perdition. — These had been my quest! 
Science I wooed — to freeze in her embi'ace ; 
And Mammon conquered — to be Mammon's slave. 
Too late I learned it, as in agony 
My spirit moaned aloud. — ''Behold!" I cried — 
" The Heritage of Science cannot bless — 
The Power of Mammon cannot save mankind ! 
Tell me, angel of my dreams ! reveal 
The glorious talisman which shall illume 
Mine Intellect and glorify my Life ! 
'4 




Poetical Works. 

MISSION OF INTELLECT. 

Then answered me the Voice of Dreams, and said 

Strange words which were of my own life long past ; 

As though my whole existence had been glassed 
"Within some wizard disc, whereon I read 

All that I was or might have been — the vast 

Minutiae of all deeds, fi-om first to last, 
Of my unnoted being — each small thread 
Of that strange woof which from my very birth had led. 

As on a panorama I did look. 

Wherein depicted were my thought and deed ; 

Not as I erst had reckoned them, but freed 
From gloss and mist of earth — or like a book, 

In which, beneath the context, I might read 

The marginals by whicli the sense was keyed. 
Fain had I now been blind — for scarce could brook 
Mine eyes to thus behold what shades my being took. 

For in that scroll of knowledge, which nor veil 
Nor coloring had, I did Myself behold. 
And saw each secret of my life unrolled ; 

Like some degraded knight, whose trenchant mail, 
Albeit of proven steel or studded gold, 
Is hacked from off his bod}', fold by fold ; 

Until quite naked, shivering, and pale. 

He stands all stripped and weak, at every wind to quail. 



3^- 



<i 




Duganne. 

MISSION OP IXTELLKCT. 

Therein I saw the virtues which I prized 

As mine own honor, were but dust and dross ; 

Therein I found each fancied gain but loss ; 
And saw black deeds in shining garb disguised ; 

And marked how evil thoughts bore holy gloss — 

Like a dark atheist who wears a cross. 
Each sin I knew, and felt like one despised. 
Who, seeking Jordan's wave, in Dead Sea is baptized. 

Like one aroused from a dreamsome state 
By I'attling thunders in continuous clash. 
The while beneath him rolls an earthquake's crash; 

Who, fleeing wildly from his toppling gate, 
Beholdeth by the fitful lightning's flash, 
A lurid lake pursue, with sullen plash, 

Wherein the goodly mansions, his so late, 

Devoured by scoriae waves, sink darkly to their fate. 

Thus on the sum of all that I had lost 

My fearful memory dwelt — the wasted hours 

Li which I danced unknowing o'er crush'd flowers ; 

And jewels to the wind like ashes tost; 

And builded what had seemed defiant towers. 
That now were mist — and planted rosy bowers 

That now were arid sands, — God ! the cost 

Of these, which was a life-time, now my vision cross'd. 





(Mii&u^ p°«'<='J '^^'^^'^^jo^M/ 



MISSION OF INTKLLECT. 



Then did this Voice of Truth, with whispers low, 
Like drip of hidden waters, fill mine ears 
"With knowledge of myself, until with tears, 

That rained out of each heart-throb faint and slow, 
I bowed me down, oppressed with chilling fears ; 
As some great criminal his sentence hears. 

And while his blood hath half forgot to flow, 

Attempts to grasp in thought the vastness of his wo. 

Nathless the Voice spake not to wound or pain, 
Save as 'twas meet that it severely should. 
E'en for my soul's behoof and endless good ; 

Like as the reverend leech must ope a vein, 
Or probe a wound, albeit with cautery rude. 
So, as the leech, with soothing power imbued, 

"Was this low Voice of Dreams, whose gentle strain 

"Was healing while it hurt my heavy heart and brain. 

And I uprose, when that the Voice had ceased, 

Like paralytic from Bethesda's pool ; 

Or, as arose Naaman, fresh and cool, 
From Jordan's waters, — with a life new leased. 

It seemed, from God's own hand — and with a rule 

Of life to guide me ; as from Heaven's school 
A teacher in my breast — a blessed priest 
Of the Most High — to give my soul a holy feast. 



/(Sp^' 





Duganne. 

MISSION or INTELLECT. 

The Voice went out before me, as a wind, 

And drew my weeping soul ! Night followed night, 

And days fled swiftly on the rolling wheels 

Of golden suns ; and seasons, like swift steeds, 

Burdened with wealth, and driven by ancient Time, 

Rushed past my sight, and vanished. On, and on — 

My soul moved, trembling, through the deeps of space : 

Cherubim brushed it with their snowy wings. 

And radiant angels of the mercy-seat 

Breathed Eden's odors, as they earthward passed, 

Drjdng my tears with their celestial smiles. 

On, through the deeps of space — a million worlds, 

Dazzling in hazy glory, crossed my sight ; 

Myriads of stars stretched gleaming fi'om my gaze, 

And countless suns in bright efiulgenee burned. 

Then fell my soul into a wildering trance 
Of mystic silence. Solitude seemed bowed 
By the awful weight of an eternal hush : 
There was no atmosphere — no pulse, to thrill 
"With subtlest whisper : — vision was no more. 
For light was absent. All was darksome void. 
Where matter and its attributes were not — 
Where Chaos yet was viewless ! — 

And there pressed 
A weight upon my brain, as if a cloud 
Of madness were approaching — and I cried, 
That this was Death — and that there was no God 





Poetical Works. 



MISSION OF INTELLECT. 

Then answered me the Voice of Truth: "Behold! 
Thus is Life dead — thus Godless is the world — 
"When Intellect bows down at Mammon's feet." 

Then suddenly, as with electric flame, 
A light fell all around me, and a sound, 
As of a thousand pinions, rocked my soul ! 
The immensity of visible space revealed 
Itself before me, — and the stars fled back, 
And sj'stems melted into mist — and suns 
Dissolved in ambient radiance, — until space 
All space — was peopled by my soul alone ! — 

Mv ^nsion swept the untenanted universe, 

And from the dimness of Infinity 

I heard the whisper of the Uncreate, 

And bowed my listening spirit. Then arose. 

Slowly, and like a phantom shape, from out 

The invisible Beyond, a shadowy globe ; — 

And my soul knew it was — the Earth ! 

An atmosphere of congelated tears 

Covered her brow as with a hoary frost. 

And the deep stirred around her — as with sighs. 

Once more the awful accents of that Voice 
Controlled my heart. " Now shalt thou mark the earth ! 
And, from the Universe of thy Intellect, 
A^ Behold Humanity even as it is !" 






Duganne. 

MISSION OF INTELLECT. 

Then, with a measureless reach, as if one blind 
Slionld strain for sight, my soul looked trembling down. 
And saw where, stretched athwart the boreal snows, 
An old man, tossed with a tempestuous grief, 
Lay writhing — while above, in midway light, 
Rose, like a sorrowing god before mine eyes, 
The Angel of the "Wretched. He was crowned 
"With thorns, that gleamed amid the light hke gems ; 
His brow was rigid, as with conquered grief. 
And his bright eyes glittered with unwept tears ! 
I trembled as his sorrowing glance met mine. 
And my soul bowed like Mary at the tomb. 
When the angel talked with her. 

And then I knew, 
That the old man, wrestling with his mighty grief. 
Like Jacob with the Evangel of the Lord, 
Was the great mass of crushed Humanity — 
The bound Prometheus of a suffering world — 
Chained to the earth with shackles, which the kings 
And great ones of all time have forged from swords 
And spears, in the dread furnace of red "War — 
Whose fires are fanned by mortals' dying breaths, 
And fed b}' slavery's hecatombs of lives ! 



Then, like the waters of the deep, updrawn 

By the pale moon, my tears gushed thickly forth 

Beneath the angel's glance ; and stretching out 






Poetical Works. 




arms, the while my bosom heaved aud tossed 
Like a stirred sea, — I Ufted up my voice, 
As Samuel 'mid the Holies: "Here am I — 
Speak : Lord ! thy servant heareth !" 

And that Voice 
Which had out-led me from the world, and showed 
The desert throne of Science, and the dead, 
Unsentient realm of Mammon, — now spake low, 
In a strange whisper, as if all the waves 
Of space were breathing lips; and the wide sound. 
Circling infinitude with a subtile reach. 
Thrilled through my swaying soul — "Arise, and work — 
While the day lasteth — for, behold ! the Night 
Cometh, when no man worketh." 

Lo ! that Voice 
Troubled the waters of mine unbelief, 
And healed mine ignorance ! — "Behold!" I cried — 
" Behold Humanity is crushed to earth — 
Mankind is cursed through toil." Then answered me 
A sound as of the tread of marching orbs. 
Rending the heavens ! — and it said once more, 
" Arise, and work !" I trembled, and obeyed. 
Even from those infinite heights I sank to Earth, 
And stood beside Humanity ! 






f^s^-^ — 



Duganne. 



MISSION OF INTELLECT. 



APOSTROPHE. 



— e^/a§\g- 



O, Earth ! O beautiful and woudrous earth ! 

Jewelled with souls, and warm with generous hearts ! 
The morning stars sang gladly at thy birth ! 
And all God's sons, through Heaven's unmeasured girth. 

Shouted with joy ! Lo ! when thy life departs, 
All things created shall surcease, and thou — 
Girt with great E'ature's wrecks — shalt proudly bow, 
And TOth the crumbling stars bedeck thy dying brow. 



bounteous earth ! Thy fresh and teeming breast 
Hath nourishment for all the tribes of men ! 

God is still with thee, and thy womb is blest ! 

Still with abundant good thou travailest ! 
And thy dead Ages fructify again, 

With a new increase ! Yet, O Earth ! behold — 

Millions are perishing with pangs untold ! 

Thy ehildi'en faint, Earth, for bread reluctant doled ! 



Mysterious Earth ! Thou hast within thy deeps 

The boundless stores of science ! The immense 
Arcanum of all glorious knowledge sleeps 
"Within thine arms, and awful ISTatute keeps 
Watch o'er the treasuries of Omnipotence ! 
mother Earth ! why are thy golden plains 
Made fields of torture, and thine iron veins 
O'er-wrought for weary war, and forged to cruel chains ? 



rS^^S'e'':^— 



^■^tfNs'R 





Poetical Works. 



MISSION OF IXTKI.LECT. 



PILGRIMAGE. 

Thus murmured I, as in the lonely night 

I wandered from the city's sights and sounds — 
Wliere passion's variant moods, in endless I'ouuds, 

"Were racing with the hours — where false delight, 
And hollow joy, and folly without hounds, 
And reckless riot which the soul astounds, 

Were but the usual objects of my sight. 

And grown so thick with life as seldom to affi-ight. 

I left behind the crowded thoroughfares, 

"Where streams of laughing foil}' dashed along ! 
I passed the theatres, where sin and song 

"Were mingled — turned me from the brilliant squares — 
And reached the darksome avenues, among 
The bleak abodes of poverty and wrong ; 

"Where wretched outcasts crouch within their lairs. 

And God's fair workmanship a demon's impress bears ! 

And, as with hurried feet I nearer drew 

To narrow streets, where "Wo and Shame and "Want 
"Were task-masters, and Hunger, grim and gaunt, 

"Wolf-like clutched human throats, and overthrew 
The souls of men, — there came, in gannent scant, 
A woman to my side, whose gait aslant. 

And swaying steps, seemed of her sin the clue — 

That most unhappy sin which all the good must rue ! 
ij 



I 



Duganne. 

MISSION OF INTELLECT. 

With tangled hair, and hloodshot, stormy eyes, 
And hands clenched nervously across her hreast, 
As to her heart some treasure she had prest ; 

With swinging motion, and strange, gasping cries, 
As if of some lost thing she was in quest — 
Like a wild bird when foes have robbed its nest, — 

This woman came to me, and with low sighs 

Sank prostrate at my feet, and gasped like one who dies. 

And over her I bent, and raised her brow 
Beneath the yellow moonbeams, and beheld 
How all its blood was fi-om her face dispelled ; 

And how the farrows deep which sorrows plough, 
Were graven on cheek and brow in many a weld; 
But Grief, and uot Intemperance, had quelled 

Her hapless brain, and she, in truth, was now 

A maniac woman, doomed to gibber and to mow. 

And this poor being fixed on me the glare 

Of her glassed eyes, while on her lips the froth 
Of a wild spasm gathered — and, as loth. 

Even in her madness, stranger looks to bear, 
Struggled within my grasp, and waxing wroth, 
Rent with her nervous hand the tattered cloth 

That hid, but shielded not, her breast, and there — 

Slumbering in peace, I saw — an infant wondrous fair ! 



-=8^ 








Poetical Works. 



9=— 



MISSION OF INTELLECT. 




There is nought holier than an infant's sleep ! 
For the sanctification of its innocence 
Enshrines its soul — a shelter and defence ; 

Like crj'stal wave, unfathomably deep, 

That guards some blessed island, and prevents 
The unhallowed entrance of all dark intents: 

Or like the viewless cherubim that keep 

"Watch over Eden's gates, lest sin within should 
creep. 

And cherubim there are — though visionless — 
Who fold the infant with their heavenly Tsings, 
And soothe its slumber with soft whisperings 

Of the eternal Love and Holiness 

Of God ! 0, radiant beautiful things — 
Glimpses of glory ! bright imaginings 

Of Eden — must they be, which oft impress 

An infant's lips with smiles whose meaning none may 



And this fair child, which now in slumber lay 
Upon its mother's bosom, like a rose 
That on a lightning-blasted cedar grows ; 

This child — which seemed a cherubic Estray — 
Awoke not from that innocent repose, 
Though its frame shook wnth the convulsive throes 

Which rent the mother, as, with maniac sway, 
[1 She struggled to her feet, and flung my grasp away. 





,^^^ ^ Duganne. ^.o^-^^MSC^ 

MISSION OF INTELLECT. (^*_J 

Unscared the infant slumbered, while below ^W 

w 

Its roseate cheek throbbed that wild woman's heart, 

As from its seat it would in madness start; 
Even as fair Virtue on the breast of "Wo 

Calmly reclines, with life and soul apart 

From all the raging thoughts that fiercly dart 
Their arrowy flames beneath it, to and fro ! 
The child slept on, nor guilt nor madness could it 
know. 



But yearnings in my heart, that seemed to plead 
For the mad woman's babe, forbade my feet 
To turn, till, haply, I might soothe the heat 

Of its wild mother's passion, and outlead 

The frenzy from her mind, that throbbed and beat 
Like smothered flame mthin the burning seat 

Of her poor brain ; — for madness, like a reed, 

Is swayed as ye may will — if ye its hum.ors heed. 

So I no longer wrestled with the rage 

That swelled her heart — ^but fixed on her my gaze ; 

Like one who tenderly some grief surveys. 
Which he with gentle act would fain assuage ; 

And as she marked, with wonder scarce concealed, 

The unusual pity which my looks revealed — 
Pity that words in vain might strive to speak — 
I bent once more my head — and kissed her baby's cheek. 





Poetical Works. 

MISSION' OF INTELLECT. 

{sT^ Behold ! at once the darksome street grew bright 
iyl "With golden beams, whose lustre pure and mild 

Fell o'er the mother's form, and wrapped the child ! 
I turned — and, clad in robes of clustering light. 
Dazzling as those in heavenlj' courts that beam, 
I saw the radiant Angel of niy Dream ; 
And heard the Voice — but now with sweeter sound — 
" Intellect ! thou hast thy Mission found ! 



ORDINATION. 

" Go forth, and find amid the world thy field : 
And such as these shall teach thee how to live ! 
Go forth, and mark the sorrows of thy race, 
And soothe the madness of their ignorance ! 
Go forth, and preach that earth is cursed by toil, 
Because that toil is linked with want and wo ! 
Be this thy Mission — to exalt the doom, 
By patient virtue and by watchful love ! 
Be thine to teach that man is kin to man ! — 
That stars may glimmer through the darkest night, 
And flowerets bloom amid the rankest weeds ; 
That in God's plan there is no evil thing 
Which may not yet take hold on purity !" 

Silent the Voice : but I, with quivering lips. 
Implored the Angel's name. — Then answered me 
V'if Those flutelike tones, o'erswaying all my heart, 

,6'B, And said, "Behold — I am thy Comforter! 

■ t--/ 

^'S^iCS'i^SS^^ -- — 






Duganne. ___^ .^g^^f 



=^t 



MISSION OF INTELI.KCT. (1 fj. 



By me the rocky fountains of hard hearts 

Are touched, as with the prophet's wand, and gush 

In hohest streams ; by me the stone of grief 

Is rolled from off the mourner's sepulchre, 

And Christ ariseth 'mid its gloom ; by me 

Are souls made free from error's leprosy, 

As Naaman in Jordan ; at my touch 

The bolts and shackles of misfortune's prison 

Fall, as fell Peter's, when the angel came ! 

I am the calmer of life's raging waves ! 

To me men ciy, when sinking — Help ! we perish ! 

Blessed are they who have my power confessed — 

And they who love me — they are truly blest !" 

Thy name ! I cried — as bent my trembling knee — 

Thy I^AME ! The Angel answered, " Charity !" 

The Vision passed — but I remained enwrapt, 

Like him of Tarsus, when the awful light 

Shone round about him. But my soul had learned 

Its mission among mankind, and it burned 

To speak the exalted truth to kindred mind-^ 

That Intellect is steward for mankind ! 

That mental life is more than mental dreaming. 

That earth is still no sham — and heaven no seeming ; 

That untaught souls will find an untrue God : 

For ignorance will worship still its clod ! 

That sacred fii-e may flame on various shrines; 

For Love is bound by no sectarian lines ! ^ 



">=- 



T 



Poetical Works. 

MISSION OF INTELLECT. 

PART SECOND. 

EXORDIUM. 

Men of mind ! 0, men of mind ! 
Ye who Macld the mighty Pen, 
Scanning souls with angel-ken ! 

Ye who mould our human-kind 
In the matrix of your tliought, — 
Why have ye for ages wrought — 
(Moral miracle and wonder !) — 
Still asunder — still asunder? 

Men of mind ! 0, men of mind ! 
Could the electric fire of Soul 
Fuse ye in one glowing whole, — 

Could the immortal flame, enshrined 
In each stranger heart and hrain. 
Flash from one tremendous fane ! — 
Then might all the world awaken — 
Then would Earth with joy be shaken ! 

Men of mind ! 0, men of mind ! 
Ye are stewards of your Lord — 
Ye are treasurers of his word ! 

Whatsoe'er on earth ye bind, 
Lo ! it shall be bound in heaven ! 
What by you on earth is riven 
Shall in heaven be loosed and broken — 
Lo ! the Eternal Voice hath spoken ! 



_^,^ 





Duganne. 



MISSION OF INTELLECT. 

Men of mind ! 0, men of mind ! 
Flash your million souls in one — 
Let tlie stars become the sun ! 

Be ye as your God designed ! 

Then shall Error withering fall — 
Then shall perish Wrong and Thrall ! 
Then shall Freedom's Anthem rise — 
Earth's eternal Sacrifice ! 




INVOCATION. 



Hearts of love and souls of daring, in the world's high 
field of action — 

Ye who cherish God's commandments, bending not to 
rank or faction : 

Ye whose lives in slothfnl pleasure never sink nor idly 
stagnate — 

Ye who wield the scales of Justice, weighing peasant- 
man with magnate, — 

Lo ! the Voice of Benediction falls upon you from on 
High: 

Ye are chosen — ^ye are missioned — ye are watched by 
Heaven's Eye ! 




'-=^ 



Poetical Works. (= 



MISSION OF ISTELLECT. 
II. 

Ye have voices, thoughts and feelings — they were given 

by God to bless you : 
Pour them forth, till Wrong shall hear you — till it fear 

you, and redress you ! 
Ye have friends in all God's servants — friends in 

Heaven, with jjower supernal — 
Friends in all who worship justice, all who fear the 

great Eternal : 
Raise your voices from the Forum — challenge Wrong 

upon its throne — 
Let your avalanchine warnings sweep the earth from 

zone to zone ! 



III. 

Speak ye boldly ! pause not — fear not ! God is reign- 
ing still above you : 

Pour the truth, like light, o'er mankind, if they hate 
or if they love you ! 

Like the Swiss, like Arnold Winkelried(') — his valorous 
watchword crying — 

Ye may "make a path for liberty!" — though in it ye 
lie dying ! 

Like old Decius, white-robed warrior — priest and vic- 
timf ) — ride ye on : 

Matters not if ye shall perish, so the glorious Cause be 



<H^i3=- 





I^"g^^^^- .^S^^^J 




MISSION OF INTELLECT. 

IV. 

Though ye bleed as John the Baptist — though ye suf- 
fer as St. Stephen — 

Pause not ! fear not ! hurl your warnings o'er the earth 
like gleaming levin ! 

Lo ! your fall shall raise up witnesses, your death shall 
prove your mission, 

And your murderers will bedew your dust with tears 
of sad contrition : 

Cry aloud amid life's desert — 'mid the wilderness of 
earth — 

And "prepare the way !" like him who first announced 
the Saviour's birth ! 



V. 

Trust in heaven, though ye be lowly ! weak and lowly 

were those preachers, 
Who, from fishermen of Galilee, became Creation's 

teachers : 
Pause ye not, though musty learning hath not doled 

its scanty morsels — 
For the flaming tongues of knowledge filled with fire 

the Twelve Apostles ! 
Truth will shame the crafty schoolmen — fill the hoary 

scribes with awe — 
Like the youthful Christ, expounding at Jerusalem 

the law ! 





Poetical Works. 



MISSION OF INTELLECT. 

VI. 

Intellect hath Voice forever! Let that Voice be 

firm, unquavering — 
As the dauntless Three of Israel, in the furnace still 




unwaverinsr 



Lift your prayers like ancient Daniel — praising God 
amid the lions : 

Smite the priests of cruel Dagons — crash the shrines of 
gilded Dians — 

Preach ye now like him of Tarsus, when the hill of Mars 
he trod : 

"Words of virtues long forgotten — tidings of the Un- 
known God !Q 

VII. 

Speak ye boldly ! from your temple-tops, Muezzin-like, 

give warning !(^) 
Bid your brother's eyes turn sun-ward — bid him hail 

the Future's morning. 
Point where Truth hath reared herKaaba(^) — point the 

Mecca of salvation — 
Till, like Moslems at the minaret-call, shall sink in 

prayer each nation ! — 
Pause not, shrink not in your Mission ! — Flash the 

sunlight of your thought, 
Like the blaze of God's first mandate, that revealed 

what He had wrought !(^) 

33 c 





Duganne. 



MISSION OF INTELLECT. 



...ss£}(S^ 



Speak to kings, as Paul to Festus — till they own the 

truths ye teach them — 
Speak to men like Christ to Lazarus — till the breath 

of life shall reach them — 
Though ye lie in chains, like Peter — angel hands shall 

ope your prison : 
Though ye die, as died the Prophets — trust ye still your 

prayers have risen ! 
Shrink not — pause not in your Mission ! — ^ye must lead 

the Future's van : 
For Jehovah gives to Intellect the stewardship of 

Man! 



ASPIRATION. 

I AM looking from my heart through cloudy skies and 

stormy years, 
While the dim, uncertain Present vails me in a mist 

of tears ; 
And a low, mysterious murmuring my sinking spirit 

hears : 



Like the sad and solemn shivering of the trembling 

forest leaves, 
When the muttered breath of thunder through the 

rocking darkness heaves, 
Ere the bolt of fiery levin 'mid the crashing heaven 

cleaves. 

34 



/(^^ 




Poetical Works. ^-^^ 

r n MISSION OF INTELLECT. ( [^ 

'tf And a mighty Thought, like sultriness, o'ersways me, 

as a wing — 
Even as blended wings of cherubim, while fearfully I 

sing, 
And most fearfully, like Samuel, to the altar-foot I 

cling ;— 



To the foot of that great Darkness, lifting high its awful 
head — 

While the clouds, in rolling billows, over its bosom 
widely spread — 

Like the darkness round the Stygian shores — the dark- 
ness of the Dead. 

At the foot of this dread Altar kneel I now with clasped 

hands, 
And my bosom smites the Darkness, as a billow beats 

the sands — 
When the Ocean, all behind it, drives it madly on the 

strands. 

Thus the Ocean of my longings forces on my surging 

heart — 
Till the Darkness seems to crumble — crumble heavily 

apart; 

And beyond it — as from Chaos — golden paradises start. A 
35 
==— -=tr 



Duganne. 



T 




MISSION OP INTELLECT. 

Lo ! the mountain Thought falls from me — falls from 

off my heaving soul — 
As if Earth from Titan Atlas should with silent motion 

roll: 
And, behold! it belts the heavens, in a wondrous, 

flaming scroll, — 

As if all the hurrying thunderbolts, in viewless fingers 

held, 
WTiilst they burned upon the azure, were to mortal 

language quelled — 
Straightway now all human Error from my spirit is 

dispelled ! 

And I know that towering Altar is Jehovah's Throne 

on Earth — 
And the billowy clouds around it hide the Future's 

mighty birth — 
This I read amid the flaming Thought, that spans the 

heavens' girth. 

Lo! that Thought is Man's Redemption — Man's en- 
franchisement fi'om wrong — 

When the Earth to all God's children shall in brother- 
hood belong — 

And the Weak shall rest securely on the bosom of the 
Strong. 

3« 




<apo^^^ Poetical Works. ^™^^oS 

lAj MISSION OF IXTKLLECT. Kji. 

^P When the ploughshare's peaceful furrows shall efface 
i\ the battle scar, 

And the golden sheaves of Harvest in battalia shine i 

afar, 
And the children gather roses to enchain the hand of 
"War. 



-q 



Like an endless fire, consumeless, burns that Thought 

before mine eyes : 
And my soul's electric flashes would eternally uprise — 
Rise and mingle with the Prophect that belts the 

Future's skies ! 




^^^ 




Duganne. 



-==&^ 



NOTES 



QU\e iHission of Jntellcct. 



(1) ZVce the Siciss—liJx Arnold Winkelried^ 

Arnold Winkelried, of Unterwalden, one of 
the Swiss Cantons, fell at the battle of Sempaobt 
A. D. 1386. Throwing himself amid the Aus- 
trian ranks, he cried to his countrymen — "I 
make a path for liberty." They followed, and 
won the day. 

(2) Idke old Deciua — white-rohed warrior — 
priest and victim — 

Decius waa a Boman consul, who, in a bat- 
tle with the Sabines, (55S b. c.) arrayed him- 
self ia priestly vestments, and, devoting his life 
to the gods Manes, rode unarmed into the ranks 
of the enemy, invoking victory to his troops as 
a recompense for the sacrifice. 

(3) To the Unknown God— 

"For as I passed by, and beheld your devo- 
tions, I found an altar, with this inscription, TO 
THE UNKNOWN GOD. Whom, therefore, ye 
ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you." 
Paul to tlie Athenians. 



(4) Muezzin-like, give looming— 

No church-bells are used in Mohammedan 
countries, but, instead, the muezzin, or priest, 
ascends to the minarets of a mosque, and, in a 
loud voice, cries out, "Allah Acbar," which 
means "God is great;" on hearing which every 
good Mussulman immediately prostrates him- 
self, turning his face toward Mecca, the city of 
the Prophet. 

(5) Point where truth Jiath reared her Kaalta~~ 
The kaaba, a holy stone of Mecca, is an object 
of great devotion to all Mohammedan pilgrims, 
as having been pressed by their prophet's feet 
just before he was taken up into heaven. 



'* And God said, Let there he light ; and there 
was light."— fftfOMw. 




-==&r 



Poetical Works. 



-.^=- 




MDCCCXLVI 



C^e Tgtar of i\t (fflfopk 



^{( 



i 



-==B- 



iW^^^- 




Duganne. 



¥ 



^m:^^ 



I 

A 



TO 



It)e Jf ei"oe§ of '^8 m^ ibe ¥^rt(|^^ of 'AQ, 



LYRICS OF LIBERTY: 



Hn ^emorfam. 



M 








Poetical Works. 



--«^c\5'. 



MDCCCXLVIII. 




^|p Jflpflp of f^p ppojplp. 



INVOCATION. 




EN" of noble souls, whose visiou 

Pierceth through the Future's cur- 
tain; 



An Ancient Ye who scom the world's derision- 



fully beholding 
rile Es- 
tate of Europe, 
at the Close of 
the Tear 1847, 
awaketh to the 
Sound of Freedom's Trum- 
pet at the Opening of IMS— 
The Ykar of the Pkofle. 
He seizeth his forgotten 
Harp, and summoneth the 
Nations. 



Ye whose trust hath still been cer- 
tain: 
Look aloft! your hope is sunward — 
Look abroad ! your course is on- 
ward! 



Lo ! now comes your toil's fi-uition — 

Labors now the pregnant crisis : 

Man renews his faith to Isis — (') 

Chronosf ) fills his glorious mission : 

Look aloft ! your hope is sunward — 
Look abroad ! your course is onward ! 

4« 




^3==- 



Duganne. 





MDCCCXLTIII. 

In the long-enslaved nations 

Throbs with joy each freeman's bosom; 
Ye who waited long with patience, 
Now behold your hopes in blossom : 
Look aloft ! your hope is sunward — • 
Look abroad ! your course is onward ! 

In each old Sclavonic forest — 
In each fair Italian valley — 
Bide the time when ye may rally, 
Ye who long have suffered sorest : 

Look aloft ! your hope is sunward — 
Look abroad ! your course is onward ! 

Polander and iron German — 

Serfs of Austria and Hungaria — 
Slaves of knout, ukase, or firman — 
Trodden Jew, and outcast Pariah — 
Look aloft ! your hope is sunward — 
Look abroad ! your course is onward ! 



Patriots ! scattered o'er creation ! 

Souls of thought, and hearts of daring ! — 
Be ye now no more despairing : 
Soon shall end your long probation. 

Look aloft ! your hope is sunward — 

Look abroad ! your course is onward ! j 



42 



-=^1 





Poetical Works, 

YEAB OP THE PEOPLE. 
I. 

THANKSGIVING HYMN FOR 1843. 

The Ancient H.rpe, ^HANK God, that througli thc worM 

breaketh forth in a Song _. . />i» ^ 

of Thaaksgiving at the lue clectiic tlioughts 01 gloHOus souls 

Advent of the People'8 

i"'"^T^- are gleaming ! 

Thank God, that now, through Christendom unfurled, 
The banners of Man's Cause are proudly streaming ! 

Thank God, that Earth hath still 
Some lofty sons, whose deeds shall gild her story — 
With flame fi'om Heaven those noble souls shall fill, 
Like old Prometheus, this woi-ld with glory. 

Old Rome hath now, thank God ! 
The keys that shall unlock her gates of heaven — (') 
And necks shall rise that have to earth been trod. 
And chains that yoked the soul shall now be riven ! 

And Man — thank God for that — 
O'er all the earth asserts his natal franchise. 
And boldly now, at King and Autocrat, 

His words of fiery hope the vassal launches ! 

Thank God that Right is Might— 
That souls are deathless and that wrong is mortal — 
That Darkness is the handmaid of the Light, 
And Death is but of Life the clouded portal I 

43 






Duganne. ^ 



MDCCOXLVm. 



THE CIANT. 



The Ancient Bard de- There was a Weary Giant 

soribeth the Rnle of King- 

craft in France under the gtrctched bv the solemn Rhine ! 

Type of a Vulture brood- *' 

Gi^ant"" * ° "° "'°* And his huge limbs, all slack and pliant, 

Heavily did recline ; 

And his hands made no sign : 
Though in the air above, with cloudy wing, 

Brooded a horrible Thing — 
A Vulture, with the face of crowned King ! 

And there were serpents, bred from the miasma 
Of that crown'd Vulture's breath. 

Gleaming, as on they crept, like strange phantasma : 
These wound, in chains beneath, 
While, wrapp'd in sleep like death, 

The Giant, which was France, nor moved nor stirred, 
Till, with a rush unheard, 

Swooped down, like Mght, the shadowy, unclean bird. 

And the bright serpents, round the Giant wreathing, 

"Wove their encumbering chain; 
While the blood-sucking Vulture, softly breathing 

Into his heart and brain. 

Deadened the sense of pain : 
Back and forth glided still those serpent bands, 

Like Delilah's soft hands 
Binding shorn Samson, at his foes' commands ! 
44 





Poetical Works. r^^_r-y~(- 



YEAE OF THE PEOPLE 

God in Heaven be praised ! tlie slumbering Giant 

Out of bis trance awakes ! 
Flings his broad arms aloft, and sbouts defiant ; 

Like as 'twere flax, be breaks 

The cbain of wreathing snakes ; 
And, in the exuberance of his strength, tears down 

The royal Vulture's crown ! 
And the crushed serpents vanish at his frown ! 



REGENERATION. 

The Old Harper exnit- I HEARD a Volce of milUcns sjuglng ! 

eth in the Triumph of the n • 

French People. I saw a forcst of waviug arms, 

And a world of flashing eyes ! 
I heard the sounding psalms 

Of freemen — glorious freemen — loudly ringing 
To the skies. 



And I said within my heart, this is France ! 

It is France ! 
From their slavery her millions now advance ! 
She hath spoken. 
And her sceptres now are broken, 
And her fetters lie in rust. 
And her diadems are trampled in the dust ! 



'# 

i 






Duganne. 




MDCCCXLVIII. 

Who hath done it ? 
What hath won it? 
What hath won this boon of freedom for our Fi'ance ? 
Tell me, citizen and neighbor, 
Was it cannon — ^was it sabre ? 
Did the guillotine achieve it — or the lance ? 

Not the cannon nor the sabre — 

Not the guillotine nor lance : 
It was LABOR — glorious LABOR — 

That emancipated France ! 

Through the pilgrimage of years, 
Ever weeping bloody tears — 
By their masters' fetters bound, 
With their eyes upon the ground ; 
While their voices dared not utter 
What their woful hearts would mutter, — 
Thus, in despotism's trance. 
Were the Workingmen of France ! 



But those hearts were bended bows, 
And their agonizing throes 
Were as arrows to be hurl'd among their foes ! 
And behold ! — 
Like the Nazarite of old,(*) 
In the glory of their liberty the Workingmen arose 



46 





i 




Poetical Works. 



..-^SlJ 



TEAR OF THE PEOPLE. 




Ye saw when Orleans fell ! 
When the crown and throne were shivered : 

Tell me, neighbors, was it well 
That our France was thus delivered ? 
If ye sanctify the deed, 
Give ye then its glorious meed — 

Not to cannon — not to sabre — 

Not to guillotine nor lance ! 
But to LABOR — glorious LABOR — 

That emancipated France ! 

No Rollin nor Cavaignac — 

And no Lamartine we trust — 
No Napoleon shall drag us back 

To Empire's bloody dust. 
Lo ! ye traffickers in blood. 

And ye worshippers of gold, 
"We, whose necks ye long have trod — 
"We — the People — bid ye hold ! 
For no longer will the Workingmen be sold ! 
But their rights they will maintain 
"With the heart and with the brain, 
Until Liberty — ^Equality — Fraternity — they gain 
Crown and chain 
Alike are vain — 
Power and gold 
Shall be controlled, 
And no longer shall the "Workingmen be sold ! 

47 






Duganne. 



MDCCCXLVIII. 

For the iron hath been diiven 

To the very soul of Man ! 
Now he rises, and — ^by Heaven ! 

Let them stay his course who can. 
Lo ! his manacles are riven, 

And in Freedom's battle van. 
With his hand upon his charter. 

And his foot upon the sod, 
He will stand — or die, a martyr, 

For his children and his God ! 

IV. 
FRANCE TO IRELAND. (» 

The Bard portrayeth ICELAND ! Ireland ! wakc — advance ! 

FranoQ as calling unto 

£ria to cast off the Baxon ttt it p tti 

Yoke. We are calling you from France : 

"We are free, suffering sister ! 
And we cry aloud to thee, 
In the name of God ! be free ! 
Wake ! arise ! — the bloody chalice 
Ye have drained in silent wo, 
Once again shall overflow : 
Ye shall fill that cup afresh. 
With the Eucharist of Freedom, 
Holy Freedom's blood and flesh ! 

Lo ! we once were slaves in Gaul — 
Slaves and dupes to royal thrall : 
Herod-like, the kings of earth 
Sought to crush our Freedom's birth- 







Poetical Works. 



Sought to slay the soul of Freedom, 
Born, like Christ, among tlie poor ! 
Ay ! they crucified our Freedom — 
Thus to make their triumph sure. 
But, like Christ from out his tomb — 
From a new sepulchral womb. 
With a quaking, rending spasm, 
Leapt our Freedom from its plasm — 
'Neath the blow of rugged labor 
Leapt, like Pallas, armed Right l{^) 
From the 'dust, where, long quiescent, 
Human hearts lay dead, petreseent. 
Rise they now, with fire renascent — 
Rise, with Phoenix glories bright ! 
Each true soul is God's own -dSon — 
And the world a grand Pantheon, 
Where we battle with the Titans,(^) 
And o'ercome their giant might; 
With the diadem'd marauders. 
With the purple-robed defrauders — 
With the tyrants who would impiously 
Escale the throne of Light ! 
Men of Ireland ! Rise ! be free ! 
Hurl your bosoms like a sea — 
Like a tempest-freighted sea — 
Over sceptre, crown, and chain; 
As your stormy Irish Ocean 
Rolls its thunders to the Main. 




/(^p^' 





Duganne. 

MDCCCXLVIII. 

Ireland ! L'elaud ! wake — arise ! 

Make a whirlwind of your sighs — 

That shall blast your chains to weapons, 

In the furnace of your wrath : 

Let the blows your tyrants dealt you 

Roll an earthquake in their path ! 

By the blood of Drogheda — 

And by Wexford's fatal fray !(') 

By your woes, your shames, your sufferings ! 

By your thousand patriot offerings ! 

By the rack, the axe, the scaffold. 

Which have oft your freedom baffled ! 

By the martyrdom of Emmett, 

And the glory of Boiroimh !(*) 

Rise, and strike the Saxon from you — 

Rise ! and to your blood be true ! 

Wake ! arise ! as France has risen, 

From the grave-mould of her prison ! 

Brand each L-ishman with treason 

Who shall brook a stranger's thongs: 
Raise your emerald banners o'er you ! 
Let your wild harp crash before you ! — 
If they DARE deny you Freedom, 

Which, of right, to man belongs — 
Rise ye, then, and grapple vengeance : 

Claim ye rack-kent(') for your wrongs ! 






Poetical Works. 



TEAR or THE PEOPLE. 



PRAYER OF ERIN. 

Erm,m»u,„ertotho ^ITH Spirit buruing, 
Call of France, invokotb 

her Sons to free her. For Rction yeamiiig, 

The noble summons of France we hear ! 

Wliile woes and curses 

Each heart rehearses, 

And weeps forever the bloody tear : 
Our brave men dying, 
Our maidens sighing. 

Our orphans crying, great God ! to Thee ! 
While foes insulting, 
O'er all exulting. 

In shackles bind us w^ho once were free ! 



^±S^ 



O Power Supernal 

"Whose heart eternal 
Inclines from heaven when the ravens cry ; 

Whose arm protects us, 

Whose word dii-ects us — 
O God of Justice ! look from on High ! 

Behold a Nation 

In tribulation : 
In supplication we bend the knee — 

In the name of Jesus, 

God ! release us ! 
From cruel tyrants, set us free ! 






Duganne. 

MDCCCXLVIII. 

Christian brothers ! 

If ye have mothers — 
If ye have sisters or children dear, 

Should Famine blight them, 

Should Plague affright them — 
Would ye not call on the world to hear V 

would ye falter 

At Freedom's altar, 
When axe and halter your eyes might see — 

Or cast behind you 

The chains that bind you. 
And swear, by Heaven — that ye would be free ? 

Ye men of Ireland, 

Behold your sireland ! 
Ai'ise ! arise ! from your bloody dust : 

No longer single. 

Let freemen mingle — 
Let Green and Orange in union trust ! 

With hands upraising, 

With bosoms blazing, 
Jehovah praising for Liberty — 

Once more in grandeur, 

Through death and danger. 
Your glorious Island arise and free ! 






Poetical Works. 



YKAR OF THE PEOPLE. 
VI. 

FREEDOM BAFFLED. 

The Bard angrily ve-WoRSE thaii valii to praj for frcedoiii, 

buketh the Cowardice of __-„ ., . ^ •, -. 

Erin's chudren. Wneii to Digots ye would preach ; 

"Worse than vain, with bold exhortings, 

Slavish minds ye seek to reach. 
Ireland wants nor arms nor armor — 

Needs no strength her rights to win ; 
But her bitterest foes are traitors, 

And her slavery is within ! 

"Would ye rescue hapless Ireland — 

"Would ye lift her drooping head ? 
"Would ye clothe her naked multitudes, 

Ajid give her paupers bread ? 
O waste not words in sympathy, 

Nor shed your useless tears, 
But arouse her from her slavishnesa 

Of twice two hundred years. 

Give her not your pikes and rifles — 

They'll be forged to galling bands ; 
For a coward priesthood rules her, 

Curbs her heart, and checks her hands. 
Give her not your golden harvests. 

Though for bread she shall implore — 
If ye do, she'll kneel for ages, 

Like a beggar, at your door. 
53 






Duganne. 



MDCCCXLVlir. 



But if ye would rescue L-eland, 

Give her spades, and give her plows ! 
Let the sweat of honest labor 

Gild her happy farmers' bi'ows ! 
Let her patriots drain her marshes — 

Let them hurl their iron blows 
On the fastnesses of fevers — 

"Worse than even British foes. 

If ye'd raise in Lreland armies, 

Make them warriors of Toil ! 
Let their weapons strike her meadows. 

Let them cleanse her teeming soil. 
Give her work, ye sympathizers, 

And for work bestow reward ! 
Work is better far than charity, 

And stronger than the sword ! 

Pauper minds are worse than traitors, 

Bigots shi-ink from Freedom's goal : 
"Would ye break the body's fetters, 

First must ye unlock the soul. 
Ireland wants nor arms nor armor, 

Lacks no strength her rights to win ; 
But her bitterest foe is Priestcraft — 

Ignorance her deadliest sin. 



54 





Poetical Works. 



TEAR OP THE PEOPLE. 



VII. 

STRUGGLE OF THE PEOPLE. 

Europe was Bondage ! where, iu stupor sunken, 



The Ancient Harper r 



Labored sad Israel, by her Pharaohs 



bearseth the Struggle of 

the Nations. crushed ! 

Shackled her limbs, her spirit weak and shrunken, 
Dumb was her voice — her harp, despairing, hushed. 

Europe was Exodus ! From shame emerging, 
Lo ! how the Slave became at once the Man ! 

While o'er his tyrants Freedom's ocean, surging 
High as man's hopes, in billowy glory ran. 

Europe is Sinai ! and her dread confusions 

Are but the workings of the Eternal's might ! 

Lo ! from the Burning Bush of Revolutions 
Cometh the Decalogue of Human Right ! 

VIII. 
AVATAR AND FLIGHT. 

Out of deep sleep where visions moved before me, 

The Bard libeneth the > •! i 

Birth of Freedom to the Riscs my wildcrcd soul : 

Avatar of Ocr Lord. 

Starless and dark the heavens are frowning o'er me ; 

And underneath me roll 
The billows of an Unknown Sea, whose surge 
Is as an endless dirge. 
Lo ! in my dreams I saw the Arisen Man — 
The unbound Prometheus, grand with conquered pain, 
55 




Duganne. 

^&=- ^ 



MDCOCXLVIII. 





Trampling his shattered chain ! 
Then, with a mighty joy that overran 
The utterance of my heart, I clasp'd my lyre, 
And sang aloud with prophet-ire, 

Sang with exuberant voice — 

"0 Earth ! rejoice ! rejoice !" 

I saw young Freedom horn — a Saviour-child — 
And sages came from far, 
Led by the radiant star 
That o'er his manger gloriously smiled ; 
And I stood with shepherds who watched by night, 
Till mine ejea were bathed with a wondrous light. 

Till I heard the song of an angel thi'ong, 
"With manifold love and with peace o'erfi'aught, 
Swaying my listening thought. 



But Herod the murderer heard — 

Herod the Tyrant of N'ations : 
There swept by his palace a mystical word. 
And the heart of the people with wonderment stiiTed, 
In the dust of its desolations. 
A star in the midnight sky — 

A gleam of the Orient morn : 
Behold ! that word swept flashing by — 

The Name of the Child new-born ! 
Over the broad world flashing high — 
The Name of the Child new-boi'n ! 

s6 

11= 





Poetical Works. 



YEAR OF THE PEOPLE. 

The Sword, nations of the earth! ye saw 

Your trembhug tyrants draw. 
The Hand, nations ! ye beheld, that slew 
The Innocent and True ! 
But Freedom lives ! 
The Almighty hath the Child outled— 
Egypt her shelter gives ! 
With strength and wisdom shall his youth be fed, 
Till in man's stature, 'mid his fellow-men. 
Freedom — the Saviour ! — shall return again ! 

The Lord God mightily reigneth — 
And in the breath of his nostrils thrones dissolve, 
Like glittering vapor, and no trace remaineth ! 
Light out of dai-kness shall His word evolve — 
Order fi-om chaos — and from the womb of might 

The Eternal Soul of Right ! 

IX. 
HUNGARY. 

Behold ! when first before my vision whirled 

The Ancient Bard ad- ^ 

dre.srth Kossuth, propbe- Thc exultlug pageantry of nations freed : 

Bying of the People. 

Wlien, from their crumbling thrones in terror hurled, 
Monarchs, with white lips, read the People's creed ; 

While rose that People, in their blood and sweat. 
Moved by the might of Freedom's new revealing ; 

And thou, Kossuth, amid thy people set — 

High on Hungaria's glorious Gilboa kneeling — 
l^ 57 






A 



.^^^ Duganne. .o^^^^^cM 

MDCCOXLYIII. (liL) 

/^\ 

Lifted thine anns iu agony to heaven ; ^> 

Then — by the breath of Hope within me, driven — 
Behold ! I named thee Moses of the World ! 



What, though alone 
Thou battledst for the common Rights of Man ! 
What, though no kindred hand upheld thine own — 
No nation followed in Hungaria's track, 
Wben for the world her genius led the van : 

Though slavish Gaul held back — 
Though Albion faltered, and tho' (shame of shames !) 
Columbia tamely looked upon her fate — 
Yet, by the memory of our fathers' names, 
Kossuth ! — despair not yet ! 

By German Steuben and De Kalb ! despair not ! 
By Erin's slain Montgomery ! despair not ! 
By Poland's child, Pulaski ! still despair not ! — 
By Lafayette ! by Washington ! — despair not ! 

Kossuth ! behold ! — 
Thy People journey through the desert still — 

Even through the desert Zin : 
While round them press the Spoilers as of old, — 
But by our Lord Jehovah's power and will 
The Promised Land they j^et shall enter in. 
And though, like Moses, thou mayst bless thine eyes 
With but a glimpse of freedom's heritage 





ff^-<MM^^ 



Poetical Works. 



YKAU OF THE PEOPLE. 




I'^ Still shall the Nations rise— 

J^ The enfranchised Nations of a future age — 

And bless their ISIosES who on Gilboa's height 
Praj^ed to the Lord through Freedom's darkest night ! 

X. 
ROME. 

The Bard singeth to ROME ! I siug tO theC ! 
Rome as to the central 

Abiding-place of Free- I ciy aloud tO thcC ! BE FREE ! BE FREE ! 
dom's hopes. 

Behold ! my heart rose up 
Like a rous'd ocean, when upon mine ear 
Broke thy high summoning trumpet, loud and clear, 
Calling dead Freedom from her shameful bier ! — 
Kome ! the deadly cup 
Of all thy woes, which tyrants filled for thee, 

And Holy Fathers bless'd in Papal Palace — 
Calling the death-bowl Heaven's anointed chalice : 
This cup thou didst dash boldly from thy lips — 

Dash'd it to earth ! Thus may God crush the malice 

Which would with shameful lies thy v-aliant deed eclipse ! 



m 



Rome the Republic ! From thy Seven Hills 
Flash'd the red beacon-fires of Liberty. 
Lo ! how the blaze, wide-spreading, flaming, fills 
The o'er-arching Past with glory ! Thou wert free ! 
Rome of RiEJfzi ! Rome of Decius ! ROME ! 
The name — the Name of Rome — shall hallow thee 
As Freedom's Home ! 
59 




Duganne. 

MDCCCXLVIII. 

0, my heart never could believe that men 
Born in the Coliseum's shadow — nursed 
Amid the tombs of earth's tremendous giants — 
Could even sleep so long ! Thank G-od ! again 
Ye awoke, and stood erect, and burst 
Your shackles, and hurled back, in proud defiance, 
The gauntlet of your faith at slavery's brow ! 
It were a lifetime worth to be a Roman now ! 

Fear ye yon crown' d Usui-per, who hath flung 

The cap of Liberty from Gallia's brow, 
And the fool's bells around her temples hung? 

What though your walls beneath his cannon bow, 
And his armed robbers march your shrines among, — 

Rome is still free ! Her buried soul revives ! 
Her children, that were dead, have now up-sprung, 

And Freedom's euchaeist gives them countless lives. 

Poor Imbecile of France ! Lo ! he would guide 

The Phoebus-chariot of a nation's will,(") 
And rein the steeds of Freedom ! In his pride 
He would o'erleap his nature, and deride 

The elements that raised him, and that still 
Are surging round him in an angry tide ! 

He cresting them, as floats some glittering toy 
Upon the bosom of an ocean wide ! 

Laugh, my soul ! This proud, assumptious boy 
60 

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Poetical Works. 



YEAR OF THE PEOPLE. 



Would with our goddess Freedom dalliance hold, 
Tempting her love with his betraying gold! 

Laugh, O my soul ! laugh loud in new-born joy — 
"The gods first madden whom they would destroy!" 

I sang in joy when France, 
With the brown hand of Labor, cast her chains 
And sceptres in the path of barricades : 
I sang as I beheld her sons advance, 
Grasping their unstained blades. 
That bore the lightning of their hearts and brains ! — 
I sang aloud the anthem of the fi-ee. 

And on my bending knee 
Prayed for the glorious cause of Liberty ! 

But France hath stooped to shame, 
Selling her birthright for a tyrant's name, 
And Rome must now do battle for the world — 

Rome, the great Heart of Nations, by whose throes 
The tide of Freedom's life-blood must be hurled 
Through Europe's arteried coi-pse, until it glows 
With life to feel and to avenge its woes ! 

Once, with the wondering patriots of all earth — 

Hailing your Freedom's birth — 

Ye bless'd the Pope of Rome ! 

Ye bless'd him, that, with vision free and earnest, 

He had looked forward to the coming light ; 
6i 

=tr 




T 



MDCCOXLVin. 4 

Ye hailed him as the holiest and sternest 

Of all man's champions battling for the Eight — 
Battling against old Europe's kingly might. 

But soon ye tore from off his brow its screening, 
And saw the monarch in your worship'd Pope ! 

His human words ye found with royal meaning — 
Ti'uth to the ear but falsehood to the hope ! 

Then, with the strength that had been crush'd so long, 
Ye rose and smote your wrong ! 

Men of old Rome ! still be your souls undaunted ! 

Still to the world fling out your proud example ! 
Lo ! the eternal seed which ye have planted. 

Banyan-like shall arise, and top the sides. 
And in its awful pride, shall arch with branches wide, 

The desert earth — that kings now madly trample. 



THE TRANCE. 

The Miastrel. .inking J gj^j^jjp q ^J^g bOSOffi Of Night, 
into a Trance, becometh a o ? 

Seer of new Wars, and ^ , , ^ , 

speaketiisoothiyotTMngs But mantlc my couch With her stars! 

to come. 

For, blazing in red, like a flame overhead. 
Still swingeth the ^vild planet Mars ! 

I hear an awakening sound, 
That sweeps through the vasty profound ; 
I see a dread Angel — a glorious Angel — 
With beauty enrobed and with righteousness crowned ! 





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Poetical Works. 

— =g 



YEAR OF THE PEOPLE. 

A Voice through Creation is hurled ; 
The breath of Elohim is rocking the world ! 
And the spirit of God o'er the face of the waters 
Is brooding in wonderful glory — 
In dark and mj'sterious glory ! 
Ai'ise ye, my sons ! awake ye, my daughters ! 

Behold ! on the mugs of the morning behold ! — 

How the Angel of Prophecy flieth from Heaven, 

With power from Elohim, the Mighty One, given, 

The Future of Earth to unfold ! 

There are cursfes and sore tribulations. 
That crouch in the lap of the Past : 
There is blood-guiltiness on the skirts of the nations ; 
And shadows from heaven are cast — 
Yea, shadows unearthly and vast, — 
Brooding over mankind. 
Who are blind — who are blind — 
Who have plucked out the eyes of their mind ! 

It comes — oh ! it comes ! 1 hear it again ! 

I hear it afar : 
That murderous tread o'er the living and dead — 
The march of old merciless war ! 
It comes — oh ! it comes — 
The whirlmnd of men ! — 
The Princes and Leaders, 
With banners and trumpets and drums. 
They tower like old Lebanon's cedars, 

A^ " ^ 




Duganne. ^^^^^^s. 




UDCCCXLVIII. 

But bow to the breath of the storm — 
Yea, bend to the hurricane's breath! 
They rush to the Valley of Death I 
Yet they swarm ! 
Like bl ack battle-vultures they swarm and they cluster — 
In countless and terrible muster, 
In crimson and murderous lustre. 
They come — oh ! they come ! 
And my spirit is dumb — 
The armies of men ! they are swarming again : 
They are swarming once more, 
On sea and on shore — 
The food and the fuel of horrible war ! 

From Muscovy — Mother of Slaves ! — 
To their graves : 
To their graves on the banks of the Ehine, — 

The serfs of the Autocrat pour ; 

And their blood shall new-nurture the vine ! 

Erom Danube's red shore — 

From Dneiper and Don — 

Shall gather the barbaric hordes ; 

The Tartar and Hun, 
Whose laws are their swords ; 
From desert and border 
Each thirsty marauder 
Shall haste to the land of the vine, 
To mingle his blood with its wine ! 
64 





Vr? Poetical Works. p 

{0^^3= —=^ 

4ji TEAR OP THE PEOPLK. 

From Britain — from Britain — 
The flame shall arise 
To the pitiless skies ! 
'Tis written — 'tis wi-itten — 
'Tis plain to mine eyes. 
And her merchants, afar oiF, lamenting and yearning, 
Shall Avitness the smoke of her burning ! 

Even so ! 
She must taste of the wo : 
In hut and in palace, she'll drink of the chalice, 
And pour out her heart in libation — 
To wash out her mighty transgression. 
For, lo ! 
The blood of the innocent cries — 
The blood of the martyrs whom Britain hath slain, 
Shall fall on her forehead in terrible rain ! 



And Gaul shall be drunken with blood, 
Drunk with the blood of the ]!f orth : 
Drunk with the blood of the Islands and Main — 
Drunk with the suicide flood, 
That once and again 
From her own cloven heart shall gush forth ; 
Ere the riddle of Samson lies open to earth — 
And, from Royal Brutes slaughtered, the Hive shall 
have birth. 

6s 




— ^ 




^^^^^^^' ..s^jisM^^ 



MDCCCXLVIII. 

It rolls — oh ! it rolls — 
The voice of the thunder that striketh men's souls : 
It bends — it descends — 
The bolt that old earth fi-om her centre np-rends — 
'Tis the battle's wild roar — 'tis the bolt of red war — 
The sea it upheave th — it i-ocketh the shore ; 

It shaketh the zones ! And monarchs and tin-ones 

Shall wi'estle with Freedom — but conquer no more ! 

XII. 
UNCONQUERED. 

At the last, the Ancient! AM ucar to you, je suiFering men, 

Harper hiddeth the People ___, 

to he of good Faith. "WTierevcr on earth ye dwell: 

My heart's best tongue is mine iron pen — 

Mine iron thoughts to tell ! 
would to God that the living fire 

"VVliich glows within that heart, 
Might reach ye, thi'ough my flashing lyre, 

And all its flame impart ! 

Jehovah spake, in the olden time. 

Through Israel's glorious seers. 
Till the haughty spirit of royal crime 

Was bent with craven fears : 
And Jehovah speaketh, in this our day, 

Wherever, on land or sea, 
A brave, true heart shall sing or pray, 

That its brethren may be free ! 



""^IS 





Poetical Works. 



OF THE PEOPLE. 




I tell you, brothers of every clime ! 

Ye children of every soil ! 
That the Saviors of Freedom, throughout all time 

Have sprung from the ranks of toil ! 
I charge ye all, who sutler and wait, 

Who live by sweat of brow, 
That 3'e keep good watch at your city's gate — 

For the AIastbr cometh now ! 

Ay, NOW, — when the foot of royal might 

Is trampling the olden world — 
When the radiant banners of human right 

In darkness have been furled — 
Ay, NOW, — when kings in their festal hall 

Deride the human soul. 
Ye shall mai-k a hand, as it scores the wall 

With Freedom's judgment-scroll 

There is never a Night for the People's cause 

That is not yet thick with stars. 
And Freedom's sleep is but breathing-pause 

For strength to burst her bars ! 
For the Day alone hath come the III — 

For the Day it hath sufficed : 
And the gloom that closed o'er Calvary's hill. 

Shall break — with the Risen Christ ! 



*7 






Duganne. 




NOTES 



®l)e ^eat of ti)e people. 



(1) Man renews his faith to Isis. 
Isis, in the Egyptian Mythology, is the type 
of Nature. 



(3) Old Rome hath now, thank God! 
Tlie Tceys that shall unlock her gates of Seaven. 
In allusion to the accession of Pius IX. to the 
pontifical chair and his subsequent reforms, 
which inspired the friends of liberty throughout 
the world with hopes too soon to be blasted. 

(4) the Nasarite of old. 

Samson. 

(5) France to Ireland. 
The Provisional Government of the French 
Republic gave strong assurances of sympathy 
to the Irish Deputations. 

(6) 'Keath the blow of rugged Labor, leapt 

Lil-e Pallas, armed Right. 
VuxcAN, according to the myth, gave birth to 
panoplied Minerva, by cleaving with his sledge 
the laboring brow of Jove. 



(7) Wliere we battle with the Titang. 
The ^ons or Demi-gods, assisted the Immor- 
tals in their great battle against the Titans. 

(8) -By the blood of Drogheda 
And by Wexford's fatal fray. 
These two places are celebrated as the scenes 
of massacre and defeat of Irish Insurgents. 

By the glory of Boiroimh. 

Brian Boiroimh, (pronounced Boru,) King 
of Munster in 1027, celebrated for his bravery. 
He fell in the battle of Cluantarf. 

(9) rac7c~rent for your wrongs. 

Back-rent is the technical term for arrears 
claimed by landlords and middlemen from the 
Irish peasantry. 

(10) The Phahm-cliariot of a nation's will. 

In allusion to the foolish daring through which 
Photon lost his life, by attempting to control the 
steeds of his father, Phoebus. 





¥ 



Poetical Works, 



^^mm 



Cfee ^osptl of ITahr. 




-^m 




Duganne. 



eSS 



T 



TO 



Ii]e Ilrife JLi^boirei*, 



(WHETHER HE WIELD THE PEN OR THE SLEDGE,) 



**§aats CiMnp** 



ARE DELIVERED. 



A 




Poetical Works. 




Sjp (Josjpplof Eafiop. 




ROTHERS ! be ye whom ye may — 
Sons of men, I bid you — pray : 
Pray unceasing — pray with might: 
ay in darkness — i:)ray in light! 

Life hath still no hours to spare, — 

Life is toil — and Toil is Prayer ! 



Life is toil ! and all that lives 
Sacrifice of Labor gives. 
"Water, fire, and air, and eai-th 
Rest not, pause not, from their birth. 
Seed, within the fruitful gi'ouud. 
Insects, in the seas profound, 
Bird and bee, and tree and flower, 
Each hath Labor for its dower — 
Each the mark of toil must wear, — 
Toil ye, then ! — for work is prayer ! 
7' 



-=s. 




„^^ Duganne. ^ -s.<®-^(rcS 



GOSPKL OF LABOR. 




Student ! in thy searching mind 
Lo ! the key of heaven thou'lt find : 
Trim thy lamp, and burn thine oil — 
Through the midnight watches toil — 
Lay the soul's great secrets bare, — 
Labor ! labor ! work is prayer ! 

Patriot ! toiling for thy kind. 
Thou shalt break the chains that bind ! 
Shape thy thought and mould thy plan : 
Toil for freedom ! toil for man ! 
Sagely think, and boldly dare, — 
Labor ! labor ! — ^work is prayer ! 

Christian ! round thee brothers stand — 
Pledge thy truth, and give thy hand : 
Raise the downcast — nerve the weak ! 
Toil for good — for virtue speak ! 
Let thy brethren be thy care, — 
Labor ! labor ! work is prayer ! 



Pray ye all ! — the night draws near. 
Toil, while yet the sky is clear ; 
Toil, while evil round je springs ; 
Toil, while wrong its shadow flings ; 
Pray in hope, and ne'er despair, — 
Toil ye ! toil ye ! — ^work is prayer ! 





Poetical Works. 



3,€V>-- 



GOSPKL OP LABOR. 



^^^S] 



THE CURSE AND THE BLESSING. 

Oh ! dark the day ! — oh ! desoLate the horn-, 
When, driven from Eden's desecrated bower, 
The stricken Pair in sadness wandered forth, 
Alone — amid the wilderness of earth ! 
Before them gloomed the Future, cold and dim, — 
Behind them flamed the swords of cherubim. 
Oh ! sad the earth ! — oh ! desolate its guise ! 
Yet there, in sooth, remained their Paradise ! 
Oh, bosomed there, beneath the darksome mould, 
Were nestling Eden's flowers of blue and gold : 
There clustered Eden's amber fruits, and there, 
In wondrous sunlight, through the branches fair, 
Dear Eden's winged songs made musical the air. 



But viewless Nature's glories — mute her tones — 
To him the lord of all those boundless zones ! 
In vain her beckoning fingers wooed his glance 
Where gentle meadows rolled their calm expanse ; 
Where sunny waters slept in silvery sheen. 
And shadows darkened through the woodland green 
In vain with luring love the landscape greets : 
A beauteous maze — a wdlderness of sweets ; 
In vain with Eden joys the world is fraught, — 
'Tis Adam's curse — that he beholds them not ! 
73 



SS^^^^'^ 



-^^6-x3 qJiv) 




Duganne. 

GOSPEL OF LAHOR. 

Though king of earth, uncouscious of his throne ; 
Though owning all, regardless of his own, — 
He only gazes back — with oft-complaining moan. 

Oh ! blind the sense that Hope has ne'er illumed, 
And dead the heart to Unbelieving doomed ! 
The soft wind wantons with the trembling trees : 
Despairing Adam trembles as he sees ; 
The streamlet murmurs in the vale profound : 
And fearful Adam pauses at the sound. 
The Future threat'ning, while the Past appalls, 
Prone to the earth his glance incurious falls. 
Not his the faith that rules to blessed calm, 
Nor sorrowing love that lends the spirit balm ; 
Not his the holy joy with suflteriug blent, 
Nor sacred strength to mortal trials lent 
Unused to earthly light his Eden eyes, 
Through tears alone must shine their Paradise ; 
Through tears alone — such tears as mortals shed 
O'er cradled lining and o'er coffin'd dead ; 
Such tears as from the bosom's fountains flow, 
When Love's soft fingers press the brow of wo. 



THE MYSTERY. 

"By sweat of brow shalt thou eat bread !" The Doom 
Went forth, and clothed the Future A\-ith its gloom : 
The earth was shrouded unto Adam's gaze — 
Each step a pitfall and each path a maze. 

74 

— =g:^ 






Poetical Works. 



GOSFKL OF LABOR. 

him no flowers — for him no verdant soil ; 
All, all were blasted by the Curse of Toil. 
Oh ! blinded sense ! — oh ! doubting heart of Man : 
In love conceived, behold the Eternal plan ! — 
Foretaste of earth, the Eden-dream was given 
That man might note the blameless life of heaven : 
In Eden's bower his soul could haply learn 
The heaven which he through mortal toil might earn 
Then from its gate the Father led him forth, 
To win that heaven from the unknown earth. 




The Curse of Toil ! Oh ! rather the ovation 
Of Man's true soul, whose life must be creation. 
The Curse ? Oh ! Blessing — in mysterious guise ! 
Without it, Man were cursed in Paradise ! 
Where Sloth exposed him to the Tempter's art, 
And Pleasure enervated brain and heart. 
Man lived not, till he crossed foir Eden's portal : 
The doom of death first made his soul immortal. 
The death of ease was but the birth of power ; 
He lost the Past — but gained the Future's dower. 
Behind him scarce had closed the flaming gate, 
When Man — the creature — godlike, could create ! 
He smote the rocks, and crystal waves outstreamed ; 
He struck the plains — the plains with harvest teemed ; 
He clove the mines — the mines their treasures gave ; 
•asped the sea — the sea became his slave ! 

75 






Duganne. 



GOSPEL OF LABOK. 



Oh ! when did Eden's golden sunshine fade ? 
Ah ! when were Eden's bowers to dust decayed ? 
It was — when Man his sacred birthright gave 
For pottage, and became his brother's slave ! 
It was — when, thriftless of the blessing Toil, 
He sold his title to the teeming soil ! 
It was — ^when, paralyzed and servile grown, 
He knelt and sued for that which was his own ; 
That which was given and ne'er reclaimed by God,- 
The inalienable birthright — of the sod ! 



THE HOPE. 

Freedom and Labor are forever one ! 
In man's true life their course is jointly run. 
Behold they have descended 
Through ages and through centuries, 
Since Moses 'mid the sundered seas 
Out-led his ransomed Israelites, 
And taught the Tribes, in one great nation blended, 
The Decalogue of Human Rights ! 
Through weary pilgrimage of Forty Years — 
The Cloud by day — the Pillared Fire by night — 
Still beaconing their sight, — 
On, to the goal of all their hopes and fears — 
On, to their Eden bright — the Promised Land — 
In faith and wonder walked that chosen band. 
76 





Poetical Works. 



i 



GOSPEL OF LABOR. 



1^ 



The Land — tlie Earth ! — this the glorious goal, u' 

Which gleamed upon each soul ! 
The Land that God had given them for their own, 

Which they through toil should win, — 
This was the mighty heritage that alone 
Led them through desert Zin. 
Those Hebrew multitudes were led 
Through cloven waters — they were fed 
With heaven's unstinted bread : 
And not for one, but all, the loving feast was spread : 
Priest — Levite — yea ! or Publican — 
It mattered not — 'Twas bread for man. 



THE PARABLE. 

That pilgrimage is parable for the world ! 
Let tyrants read it, when from empire hurled ! — 
Let slaves behold the Sinai flame of God — 
And tread the dust in which they once were trod ! 
That pilgrimage is gospel for the poor : 
Teaching heaven's holiest mandate — to endure ; — 
Proving God's promise infinitely sure. 
That pilgrimage is prophecy for all time ! 
Thus, through all ages, and in eveiy clime. 
The People have been wandering, toiling on ; — 
But, ah ! not yet the Promised Land is won ! 
Not yet — and not till light hath conquered night ; 
^ Shall Canaan's borders bless the People's sight ! 



hS^^^ 






Duganne. 



GOSPEL OP LABOE. 



TYRANNY THE CURSE. 

A vision of the Past hatli been witli me, 

Like a weird Presence. Over time's dark sea, 

Upon whose crumbUng shores the sullen waves 

Break o'er their countless landmarks — human graves ; 

My disembodied soul, upon the wings 

Of Thought, glides forth among long-perished things. 

The awful spell of Histoiy exhumes 

The tribes of men from their centennial tombs : 

The mouldered dust of cycles and of ages, 

Garbed in the forms of warriors, priests, and sages. 

I hear a solemn murmur, like the low. 

Sad cadence of a world's despairing wo ; — 

As of a myriad brains with madness throbbing — 

As of a myriad hearts through fetters sobbing — 

As of a myriad dead and buried men. 

Striving to burst their shi'ouds and live again. 

Those brains and hearts — those dead men half-revi\'ing, 
And with their awful shackles vainly striving — 
Striving through all the past and striving yet, — 
Are they who eat bread in their forehead's sweat; — 
Wliose life is labor — whose reward, a crust. 
Their works immortal, and their memory — dust ! 





WMn: 



Poetical Works. 



.^^iL,^. 



GOSPEL OF LABOR. 



THE BOOK OF RUINS. 

Lo ! when Truth's hand reverses History's urn, 
And Ruin's monumental leaves we turn, — 
Behold, on cloven shrine and shivered column. 
How iron Toil hath graven its legends solemn ! 
Behold the eloquent lesson of Decay : 
If ye preserve not man, man's work will pass away ! 

How the cold ruins mock us as we tread, 
"With trembling steps, each city of the dead — 
How in their marble scorn do they deride. 
The poor, short-sighted compass of our pride ; 
That pride which rears the temple and the shaft, 
As glorious tokens of man's handicraft ; 
And then, in suicide madness, sacrifices 
The life of man, which all earth's life comprises. 

Lo ! where the wise Chaldean's chariot wide 
Rolled o'er Euphrates' bridged and conquered tide; 
Lo ! Babylon, where, on the Assyrian's soul, 
Flashed the red language of his judgment-scroll, — 
Where are they now ! 

Behold yon rolling cloud 
Of simoom sand — it is Assyria's shroud. 
Behold yon smoke from Kurdish wigwams rise — 
There the Chaldean's gaze explored the skies ! — 
Where deserts stretch and wild marauders wander, 
Ye may behold Time's giant Avi-ecks — and ponder ! 




/(S)^^' 



'^^ 






Duganne. 

GOSPEL OF LABOR. 

Fearfully do we tread 
The Alpine masoniy of Pyramids ; 
And shudderingly our feet are led 
Thro' Egypt's populous tomhs — the echoless Catacombs, 
Beneath whose rocky lids 
Slumber a nation's dead ! — 
With awe we mark the pillars overthrown 
Of what was once the Athenian's Parthenon — 
With fear we scan the crumbling stone 
Of Eome's dread Coliseum : her pride — her mausoleum ! 
We dream not that those wrecks of old 
A pregnant lesson may unfold : 
Our blinded thoughts have never spanned 
What Ruin's damp and mildewed hand 
Hath writ upon each mouldering wall : — 
A lesson like the scroll in doomed Belshazzar's hall ! 



THE LESSON. 

Ye piles ! whose very ruin ovei-whelms 

Our senses with your vastness — whose dread forms, 
Clad in the hoar of centuries, shake the storms 

Like dew-drops from your mailed breasts ! Te realms 
Of shadow ! where Decay hath fixed her throne, 

And thence foredooms the Present with the fate 

Of all the Past ! — Ye tongues of Toil ! make known 
The dread significance of your fallen state ! — 

Why live ye even in dust, and why for dust were ye 
create ? 





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GOSPEL OF LABOR. 

Those ruins answer us ! They speak amid 
The shadowy years, like Samuel unto Saul : 
Each stone hath voice — as if within the wall 

A multitude of prisoned souls were hid ; 

Behold ! they cry — behold ! these crumbling piles 

Ai-e Tomb-stones of the Livnng ! of the slaves — 
The PEOPLE ! by whose sweat and bloody toils 

All were upreared — walls, bases, architraves ! — 
These are the monuments of those who have no graves ! 

Those ruins teacJi us ! Kings have writ their names 
Upon the crushed entablatures, and deemed 
Their memory deathless as each column seemed ; 

Why is it that nor king nor vassal claims 
The homage which their awful works inspire ? — 
Wliy is it that we gaze — perchance admire — 

Yet reck not of the long-forgotten builder, 
Whose handiwork, even in ruins, can bewilder ? 

It is because the soul which was in him 

"Who built, was crushed into his work. — It is 
Because the immortal life, which had been his, 

"Was trodden out by kings from soul and limb, — 
That with it they might build these monuments 
To their own glory. — Human soul and sense 

"Were sacrificed to matter — and stones became. 
Instead of men, the altars of a nation's fame. 

bg= 





Duganne. 




GOSPEL OF LABOR. 

Myriads of lives were moulded into brass 

For Rhodes' Colossus — millions crushed to clay, 
That Thebes might dazzle thro' her short-lived day. 

Oh ! had these hecatombs of souls — this mass 
Of living Labor — been together welded ! — 
Had one great mental monument been builded, — 

Then had that rescued and united Whole 
Templed Creation — with a deathless Human Soul. 

THE FATE OF DESPOTISM. 

Egypt, Assyria, Greece, and Rome ! how vain 
The trophies which of all your power remain ! 
How shadowy is the fame ye sought to span, 
By piling stones upon the soul of man ! 
Your gold corrodes — your adamant is rotten : 
■ Art hath no name when IS'ature is forgotten ; 

It lives thro' toil and dies with toil's subjection — 
Only through Man redeemed comes Art's true resur- 
rection ! 

Did Egypt build the pyramids, and baptize 
Their walls with half a nation's sacrifice ? — 
Behold ! self-immolated, Eg^'pt dies ! 
Was Greece thi-o' Helot toil made half-divine ? 
Lo ! the Necropolis is her last sad shrine. 
Did Rome o'er trampled men aspire to power ? 
Her life departed in her triumph hour. 





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"i^ 

GOSPKL OF LABOR. 

No work — no nation — can exist, which rears 
Its sinful fame on servile toil and tears. 
If Labor's sine^v3' frame be shackled down 
By law or custom — fetter, scourge, or frown, — 
If it be not, as God's great laws decree, 
And Nature teaches, — if it be not free — 
Then is all toil a doom — a plague — a curse — 
Thau which the human soul can dream no worse ! 

THE GOSPEL REVEALED. 

Spurn not, Priest ! these tidings unto Toil ! 
Turn thee, King ! no more thy race despoil ! 
Claim ye, Slaves ! your birthright to the soil ! 
For this great ^Gospel, through which men are fi-ee, 
Burned upon laborers' lips, in Galilee, 
And flash'd above the Mount of Calvary ! 
Toil was evangelized by the glorious thought 
Of Joseph's Son, who with his father wrought. 
Labor was deified, when, through jibes and scorn, 
The ponderous Cross was by its Victim borne : 
The Gospel of the Poor was sent from Him 
Whose ministers are the tireless cherubim ! 



Behold Ave trace it in the changing skies — 

And from the laboring earth its teachings rise ; 

"We hear it in the ocean — and its form 

Is mirrored in the drapeiy of the storm. 
83 




Duganne. 



T 



GOSPEL OF LABOR. 



s 



THE MYSTERY OF CREATION. 

My soul hath sought this G-ospel, and upsoared 
Through wondrous space, until its glance explored 
The wilderness of worlds, that, ever in motion. 
Gleam through the starry sky, like Phosphor's light 
in ocean ! 

Light rayed itself fi'om out my heart, like wings, 
Bearing me upward ; and the mist, which clings 
Around all human knowledge, was dispelled : 
The works of God I saw — ^the Universe beheld ! 

Each atom — of that illimitable Thought, 
Which men call Universe ; where God hath wrought 
The eternal fabric of which Lives are shreds ; 
And woven the mystic woof of which our Souls are 
threads. 

0, ye may measure stars — ^ye may engirth. 
With your wise subtleties, this mortal earth ! — 
Ye may compute the breadth of zones, and number 
The cycles man shall live, ere yet the earth he cumber. 

But can ye bound Infinitude ? or term 

Etei'uity ? Our trembling sense infirm 

Faints with the awful idea of that Being, 

Alpha and Omega — Omnipotent ! All-seeing ! 
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'^0 And — throned upon Infinity — God creates : A 

M Never — tln-ougli all Eternity — abates ^ 

The working of His brain ; and ceaseless rolls 
Out from His boundless heart the ocean of men's souls ! 

And, in each soul-created, God renews 
The likeness of Himself, and re-imbues 
TJnscntient matter with the eternal sense : 
Thus is He multiplied through Nature's elements ! 

And Man, through all his being, duplicates 
The life which God hath given him — he creates 
In every thought, word, action of his life ! 
All are immortal — all with good or evil rife. 

Thought is the soul of mind — words intermingle 

A thousand souls, which once in mind were single ; — 

But DEEDS are rivets, on the mighty chain 

Of God with Man, or blows, which sunder it in twain. 



Create, Man ! thy heaven ! The Eternal Maker 
Invites thee still with Him to be partaker. 
Fore-measuring all things, all things He ordains — 
And yet no thought, no deed, of thine restrains. 

Free actor, thou, 0, Man ! The Almighty Cause 
Projected Nature, and confirmed Her laws : 
y^ Thee, then, he called, and, faithful to his Plan 
^ Made Nature's self subservient unto Man 



',)?£ 




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Duganne. _^ 

GOSPEL OF LABOR. 

All elements are thine — all agents render 
Their skill to thee — to thee their forces tender. 
The Earth thou tread'st, — ^thy curb is on the Sea : 
The Air is chained — the Fire is yoked — for thee ! 

And thou, Man ! — free-soul ed, free-acting still — 
Thy Maker formed thee — ^yields thee to thy will : 
O'er-watchful, then, He marks thy changing fate. 
But leaves thee, still, its changes to create ! 



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Duganne. 



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YOUNG AMERICA, 

OF 

Ciberta'0 Smple, 

THIS POEM IS DEDICATED. 






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lOT miue to rule the poet's realms of 
light- 
Not mine to SAvay the golden tides 
of song ; 
Nor may my fingers sweep the chords 
That once their stormy music flung, 
When Homer trod the Chian strand ; 
Or rained celestial strains, when sung 
Another sightless one in Albion's land. 

Oh ! not for me the deep, melodious words 
That only to those raptured bards belong. 

Who, blind to earth, saw heaven with saintly sight, 
And spake its language with seraphic tongue. 
I may not strike immortal Dante's lyre, 
Nor dare the organ-swell of Avon's choir. 
Nor thrill Avith Harold's grand and gloomy fire ! 

Yet, haply I, with reach of high desire. 
May lift my song to greet the orient breaks 
Of freedom — as old Memnou hailed the sun ; 
89 



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Duganne. 

;^=- ^ =8= 

THUE REPUBLIC. 

And fling my numbers to the aspiring wind 
That swells exultant with the voice of man, 
Singing the birth-song of his dawning hopes ; — 
Even I, out-looking from my yearning soul, 
May chaut with answering joy the sounding strain 
That mounts impetuous from each patriot's heart — 
Crying to all the world, that Freedom lives ! 

Oh ! -ffhen can Freedom die ? When summer suns 

No longer glow upon man's lifted brow, 

Nor warm his grateful breast; when Ocean's wave 

No more shall roll beneath the changing stars, 

But stagnant lie — in desolate repose ; 

When winds forget their solemn symphonies. 

And thunders break not from the gathered clouds ; 

When Nature shall grow weary of her life, 

And thriftless of her stores — and dull Decay 

O'erbrood the dying earth, — then, only then. 

May human souls despair of Liberty ! 



Be thou, Washington ! the witness — thou 
Whose memory, moonUke, sits amid our stars, 
And rules their brightness with its steadier light ! 
Whose spirit fills the temple of our love, 
And from its portals moves through all the earth 
Whose life is patriotism's chart — whose name 
A Pharos burns, o'er all the future's gloom, 
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To guide the world to its enfranchisement. 
Thee ! Washington ! I now invoke ! Thee, Sire 
And Savior of my own — my native land ! 

Shall it not come ? — shall not the hallowed strife, 
Of living Man with the dead nightmare shape 
Of kingly craft, soon shake the orient world ? 
Shall not that cruel Moloch, at whose shrine 
(Girt ■s\'ith the tyrants of all time) the Earth 
Too long hath bowed, and offered up her best 
And bravest children in sad hecatombs, — 
Oh ! shall not this false idol. Royalty, 
Be hurled forever from its bloody seat, 
And Man, the Patriot, own but God — the Sire ? 

Command it. Heaven ! assert it. Earth ! pray. 
Ye suffering millions ! that the Hope, so long 
Nourished in secret — wildly uttered forth — 
"Wounded too oft in vaiulj^-daring strife. 
But never wholly crushed, — may yet find tongue, 
And arm, and soul, to gauge its awful strength. 
And clothe it grandly in immortal Deeds ! 




But thou, mj' country ! laud of birth and love ! 
Delphos of Nations ! at whose gate 
Their countless multitudes await 

The oracle that, thundering from above, 
Interprets Freedom's fate ! — 

9« 






Duganne. 

TRUE REPUBLIC. 

Mecca of Ages ! at whose shrine 
The pilgrim centuries recline, 
And look to thee — ^to thee ! 
For that great sequel to their nohlest deeds ; 
For that broad harvest of their scattered seeds ; 
For that dear bounty to their sorest needs, — 
The PKOOF of liberty ! 

The old world throbs with turbulent unrest ! . 
Her nations crowd to war — 
And, hark ! with dreadful jar 
The temple-gates of Janus they unbar ! 
Her monarchs mad with empire's quest — 
Her peoples sore opprest — 
Aw^ait the strife of Sultan and of Czar ! 
But, throned serenely in the West — 
"Where struggling Man beholds his freedom-star — 



•'&& 



One Great Republic watches from afar 



One Great Republic ! — ^great in generous souls ! 
Supremely great — that she herself controls, 
Nor yokes her power to Havoc's car, 
To swell the Orient war ! 
Great in her storied Past ! 
Whose mighty deeds are mankind's Runnymedes — 
Whereby its freedom-charter, broad and vast. 
Each yearning nation reads ! 

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jSH 



TRUE RKPUBLIC. 




Great in her Present, while her flag, unfurled, »a| 

In neutral calmness challenges the world ! — 
But yet more gloriously great 
That she can cast her awful power 

In Virtue's shining van : 
That she may all the future dower 
With hlessings unto Man ! 

No armies fright her vales ! 

No battle-din assails ! 
No hireling guards around her portal stand ! 
But when a stranger nation, starving, cries 
For succor at her hand ; 

then, in marshalled lines, 

Each ripening harvest shines. 
And glittering sheaves of golden corn arise — 
To conquer and o'er-run the foreign land! 



One Great Republic ! lo ! she towers sublime ! 

The Hope of Nations, aud the Goal of Time ! 

The van of empire and the throne of mind ! 

Like that dread Angel who at last shall stand, 

With foot upon the sea and land, — 

With power from God to loose and bind 

The myriads of mankind ! 






Duganne. 

TRUE RKI'UBLIC. 

O, Memories of the Past ! ye come 
"With trumpet blast aud roll of drum : 
Around me like a bannered host ye are ! 
I bear the awful signal gun 
From Bunkers' Height and Lexington, 
And Moultrie's cannon thundering from afar ! 
On every hill — through every glen — 

From every mountain-gorge — 
I hear the tread of Minute-Men ! 
I hear their mingling battle-cries 
From Trenton's glorious field arise, 

And sink in Valley Forge ; 
But still a clarion voice goes forth 

And cries, amid the wintry snows : 
No East — no "West — no South — no ISTorth 
The Eevolution knows 1 



ye immortal and heroic souls, 
Wliose vision ed glory rolls 
Triumphant through the wondrous Past — Ye men 
Of Seventy-six ! who wielded sword aud pen ! 
Ye twins of eloquence, whose burning will 
First drew the electric flame of freedom forth — 
The Southern Henry — Adams of the ISTorth ! — 
Ye martyred twain, 
The Northern Warren and the Southern Hayne ! 
Oh ! ye are with us still ! 

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TRUE REPUBLIC. 

I 




Your awful phantoms walk the viewless air 
On every wind ye glide ! 

And cry aloud — " Not here — not there : 
" On EVERY plain your fathers died — 
" Their battle-field the Union wide ; — 

" No border claims a separate share ! 
"And palsied be the patricide 
" Who would your heritage divide !" 

In History is God — no state may rise — 

No nation flourishes — no empire dies — 

But hath its lesson writ by Ilini whose Will 

Evoked the Universe, and rules it still. 

Not Israel's tribes alone beheld His hand : 

In Fire and Cloud He leads through every land ! 

His Sinai altar flames on every shore ; 

And nations move but when HE moves before ! 



Land of my birth ! land of Washington ! 
For thee, the Past its mightiest work hath done ! 
For thee, God's finger shines o'er History's page — 
For thee, in solemn words Age answers Age ! 
Land of each freeman's heart and home and love ! 
High-throned among the nations ! Oh ! by thee 

May God out-lead the world and free 
The expectant tribes of men ! Even now, above 
c^ The surging waters of their troublous life, 

J^i Thou sittest calm, iinmingling in the strife ! — 






Duganne. 

TRUE RErUBLIC. 

Yet, evermore, ab heaves the billowy sea 
Of Europe's revolutions — evermore. 
As freedom's surges break from sbore to shore, — 
Behold ! each struggling patriot, from the crest 
Of some huge wave, looks, yearning, to the West, 

And, dying, smiles with but a glimpse of thee ! 

O proud America ! exalted clime ! 
Thy soil enriched with heroes' blood : 
And eveiy vale, and every crag. 
And every field and flood 
With freedom beautiful — with strength sublime ! 
Whilst, over all, thy Flag 
Streams from its towering battle-tent. 
With heaven's own shimmering ensigns blent, 
And marks, where'er the foot of freedom falls, 
One beacon more upon the Future's walls — 
One other star in Glory's firmament ! 

The True Republic ! Wouldst thou, then, enroll 

Thy name — the noblest upon Empire's scroll ? 

Be still thj' soil the refuge of th' oppressed ! — 

Be still thy navies first in danger's quest ! 

Be still th}' snccoi'ing hand the first to save ! — 

Be still thy power the shelter of the brave ! 

But, evermore, upon thy starlit gate, 

IIis words inscribe who taught thee to be great — 
96 




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TRUK BEPl'BI.IC. 



Who — first ill i")eace, in war, in patriot liearts — 
One peril saw — tue curse of foreign arts ! 

WTiere threats the danger ? lo ! in yonder school ; 

"WTiere bigot zeal usnrps a separate rule : 

In yonder church, where Labor's scanty mite 

Uprears cathedral domes — to sbame tbe light, 

"VVliilst ermined Priestcraft sweeps tbe marble floors, 

And — pauper thousands grovel at the doors ! 

In yonder crowd, with Jesuit listener nigb ; 

In yonder home — where lurks a foreign spy ! 

In crafty shepherd and in slavish flocks — 

In Freedom's councils, and — her ballot-box. 

'Tis Superstition ! child of deepest night, — 

We fear — and Ignorance ! its kindred blight. 

'Tis these we combat — these we would repel 

Back from our Temple, to their native hell! 

0, marvel not that, when our sorrowing eyes 

Behold the storm-portending clouds arise, 

AVe cry aloud, with Monticello's sire : 

" that the Atlantic were a wall of fire !" 



A Wall of Fire ! 'Tis ours to thus engirth 
This land of refuge for the tribes of earth. 
A Wall of Fire — the tyrant's power to brave ! 
A Sea of Flame — to purity the slave ! — 
To purge his ignorance — his servile shame — 
And make him worthy of a Patriot's name ! 

97 

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Duganne. f 

^ -=e^ 



TRUE REPUBLIC. 



Who would be free must sufl'er and aspire : 
Our LAWS should make for us this Wall of Fire ! 

Nations are built of men — the mighty frame 
Of that huge skeleton — a state — 
Govern we it with priest or potentate, 
Is evermore the same : 
Bones, sinews, flesh and blood of human kind : 
Moulded together, and made one, 
By that tremendous charm — the mind ! 

And ruled (if ruin it would shun) 
By one great bond of Brotherhood, 
Swayed for one object — Human Good ! 

But if the Mind be perished — if the Heart 

Of Brotherhood, from which alone 
All the life-blood of Liberty must start, — 

If this be trampled down, — 

Then sinks a nation, from its living state. 

Back to the mouldering skeleton ! 

Such has been — such will be its fate 

As Israel's prophet looked upon : 

A Valley filled with Human Bones — 

Dry, senseless, soulless, as the stones ! 

Only the breath of true-born Liberty 

Can bid such crumbling bones arise — 
Only the voice which through all nature cries : 
" Man is by birthright free !" 




Poetical Works. 



TRUE REPUBLIC. 





Only the spirit which ennobles Toil, 
And makes the Anvil eqnal to the Sword ; 
And makes the peasant, while he delves the soil, 
A compeer with the lord, — 
So long as mind shall dignity his brain. 
And love for human kind within his heart remain. 

This, then, the True Republic ! — where true souls 
Shall write their actions on its deathless scrolls ! 
Where Labor with his burden proudly smiles. 
And Men are reared, instead of marble piles ! 
Where willing toils embrace the yielding sod, 
And millions kneel in prayer — but pray alone to God ! 

Shall this be our Republic ? Ay ! though guile 
And wrong may lift their threat'ning front a while ; 
Though leaders falter, and defenders fail ; 
Though statesmen may betray, and champions quail,— 
Be sure, (though leprous spots have scarred it o'er,) 
The People's Heart is sound within its core ! 
Above the din of battling Politics 
The People's Heart still throbs — with Seventy-six ! 

God bless the Heart of the People 1 It meaneth 
Eternally well — and it hateth all wrong : 

And ever to goodness and nobleness leaneth ; 
And hopeth in heaven, though long 
It hath suftered from shackle and thong. 
99 





'Xi^_ 



Duganne. 



TRUE RKPUBLIC. 



,,jd)5® 



i/ 



'Tis the Heart of the People first throhbeth indignant, 

When despots would rivet their fetters accurst : 
And fronts with bold bosom the tyrant malignant — 
And swells, till with glorious burst. 
Out gushes the flame it hath nursed. 

'Tis the Heart of the People — in mighty ovation — 
Flings chaplets of fame in the patriot's path: 

Or grapples with fraud on his mountainous station, 
And showeth what terrors it hath, 
"When wrong shall awaken its wrath ! 

'Tis the Heart of the People that lovingly weepeth, 
When famishing nations ciy wildly for bread ; 
And forth from that Heart, how its sympathy leapeth. 

Till banquets for hunger are spread; 

And the hving arise from the dead ! 

Then, God bless the Heart of the People ! and arm it 

With boldness, and goodness, and vigor and light ; 
Till Force shall not frighten, till Fraud shall not charm it ; 

And, shaken by sinews of Right, 

Shall crumble the idols of Might ! 

Oh ! then shall the Heart of the People — an ocean 
Of rivers, commingling, each spii'it a wave — 

Roll on in one choral, harmonic devotion, 
The Throne of the Father to lave : 
One Heaven, one Hope — as one Grave. 




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I 



Jlie SclobcD Oi\e^. 



0, Vfi who rouud tho Cross of Suffering clustorl 
Fftir souls, whoso iuwi\rd lovo raya out iu light,^ 

Lo ! in my heart hnth fnllou that holy lustro, 
Chasing tho shadows of my starlosa night : 
Yo havo rovealod Iloavon's brightness to my sight. 

Valiuut and high-soulod Man and glorious Woman! 
Such as onco walked with God in Paradise; 

Suoh as havo loved with hoarts all soft and human; 
Such as havo lived like sjiiuts in mortjil guiso, — 
These, such as those, befoi-o my soul arise. 

Ye are around mo, like bright angi'ls, ever; 
Breathing sweet prayers, liko music, iu mine ears: 

Prompting each valorous thought — each high endeavor; 
Sootblug my heart when mocked by phantom fears, — 
And with warm lovolooks drying all my teal's. 

Yo who have lived and loved 'mid earthly suffering — 
Ye who now cliaut in Heaven's eternal choir 1 

Lo! I would crown your tombs with this, mine offering: 
Thoughts I havo mouldwl iu my l>osom's fire — 
Voices of Ilope, withiu mine Iron Lyrs. 




i 



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^|p Iron I^arp. 




THE SONG OF TOIL. 




ET him who will, rehearse the song 

Of gentle love and bright Eomauce! 
Let him who will, with tripping tongue, 
Lead gleaming thoughts to Fancy's dance ; 
But let ME strike mine Iron ILxrp, — 

As Northern hai-ps were struck of old ! 
And let its music, clear and sharp, 
Ai'ouse the free and bold ! 




My hands that Iron Harp shall sweep. 
Till from each stroke new strains recoil ; 

And foith the sounding echoes leap. 
To join the arousing Song of Toil: 

Till men of mind their thoughts outspeak, 
And thoughts awake in kindred mind ; 

And stirring words shall nerve the weak, 
And fetters cease to bind ! 

lOJ 




Duganne. __^ ^gv^ 



IRON HARP. 



And, crashing soon o'ei* soul and sense, 
That glorious harp, whose iron strings 

Ai-e Labor's mighty instruments, 

Shall shake the thrones of mortal kings : 

And ring of axe — and anvil-note ; 

And rush of plough through yielding soil ; 

And laboring engine's vocal throat, — 
Shall swell the Song of Toil ! 




THE POET S TASK. 



WSAT is the Poet's task ? 
To tear the grave-clothes from the buried ages— 

To lift the mighty curtain of the Past ! — 
And, 'mid the war that old Opinion wages, 
Deal out his warnings like a trumpet-hlast : — 
This is the Poet's task ! 

Thank God for Light ! 
Praised be the Source of mortal might and being. 
That he hath stripped the veil from off our eyes ! 
Now, in the blessed consciousness of seeing, 
Man may gaze upward, to the glorious sides, 
With a strong sight ! 
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Labor hath raised its voice !(') 
The strong right arm — the mighty limbs of iron 

The hand embrowned by grappling with its toil : 
The eyes which, on the perils that environ, 

Gaze from the honest soul that wears no soil ; — 
These are its silent voice ! — 

Silent — but, oh ! how deep ! — 
Rousing the world to wrestle with its curses — 
Speaking the hope of Freedom to the earth : 
Vulcan-hke stand again those iron nurses, 
To give the panoplied Minerva birth, 
From her long, death-like sleep ! 



Read me, ye schoolmen, now — 
Read me the riddle which our Samson showeth: 

Out of the Strong comes SweetnessQ once again ! 
Lo ! from the brute how strength'ninghonej' floweth — 
Meat for the suffering souls of famished men ! 
'Tis the world's riddle now ! 

Forth shall the nations start 
Labor is calling on the heart and spirit — 

Labor is casting all its gyves away, — 
Labor the garland and the sheaf shall merit ; — 
Break thou upon my sight, glorious day ! 
Bless thou the Poet's heart ! 



105 






Duganne. 



IRON HARP. 



THE POET AND THE PEOPLE. 




SPOKE well the Grecian, when he said that poems 
Were the high laws that swayed a nation's mind — 

Voices that live on echoes — 

Brief and prophetic proems, 
Opening the great heart-book of human kind ! 

Songs are a nation's pulses, which discover 
If the great body be as nature willed ; 
Songs are the spasms of soul, 
Telling us when men suifer : 
Dead is the nation's heart whose songs are stilled. 

Lo ! the firm poet is the Truth's dispenser — 

Standing, like Heaven's high-priest, before its shrine ; 

And his high thoughts, like incense, 

From his soul's golden censer, 
Rise to God's throne — a sacrifice divine ! 

Stands he like Samuel, darkly prophesying — 

Threats he, like I^athan, humbling Judah's king — 
Comes he as John the Baptist, 
'Mid the wild desert crj'ing, — 
Still from his soul the impatient voice must spring. 
106 





Poetical Works. 



IKON HARP. 



Speaks lie to senseless tyrants, who with scourges 
Would curb the ocean of the human heart ! — 
Over their whips and fetters, 
Rush his bold songs, like surges : 

Forth from the caverns of deep thought they start. 

Still for the People — still for Man and Freedom — 

Boldly his Titan words the bard must speak ; 

Till his too long-lost birthright 

Shall be regained by Edom(') — 

Till, to restore that right, Jacob shall Esau seek ! 



THE POET 'TO THE PEOPLE. 

LIST! je stern, hard-handed toilers ! 

Ye who suffer — ^ye who strive ! 
Time has been when your despoilers 

Gave ye lash, and task, and gyve : 
Time has been when each low murmur 

Brought the scourge upon your flesh ; 
Wlien each struggle fixed ye firmer 

In your tyrants' cunning mesh ! 

Ye were then the bond and vassal. 
And your master's will obeyed — 

Though ye built his lordly castle, 
And his arms and armor made : 

107 



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Duganne. 



lEON HARP. 




Even the chains with which he galled you, 

Your own fingers did create ; 
And the very power which thralled you, 

From yourselves was delegate ! 

Thus ye suffered — still unknowing ; 

Still in doubt and darkness toiled ; 
Still your sweat and blood were flowing — 

Still your tyrants wronged and spoiled ! 
For ye thought that ye were minions, 

And that lords were nobler things — 
And your faith was old Opinion's, 

And the holy right of kings. 

But one bold and firm endeavor 

Broke your chains like threads of flax — 
And a shield was raised forever 

'Gainst the Wronger' s fell attacks ! 
Now ye feel that glorious labors 

Stain not man's immortal soul : 
Iron ploughs must rule the sabres. 

Sledges must the crowns control. 

Still ye raise the shaft to heaven — 
Still ye force each mighty toil : 

Still by you the waves are riven — 
Still by you is rent the soil ; — 
108 




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ij,^ Poetical Works. oO@ 






IRUN HARP. 



But ye feel that ye no longer 

Are the slaves which once ye were ; 

Feel that ye are purer — stronger ; 
Feel that ye can wait — and bear ! 



THE CHAMPIONS OF MANKIND. 




HO W gloriously, from out the gloom of Ages, 
Flash the true beacon-lights of lofty souls : 

Gleaming still brighter, as Life's tempest rages — 
Gilding the tide that to Oblivion rolls ! 

Gracchus ! first martyr (*) to the cause of reason — 
Still shall thy thought each pafriot's heart inflame ; 

Valiant Wat Tyler ! — if tJiine acts were treason, 
Then may such treason gild each freeman's name ! 

Cromwell, thou tyrant-queller ! slaves may hate thee ; 

Courtiers may all thy lofty traits deny : 
Courtiers and slaves did not, could not, create thee ! 

Thou wert of Mankind's Cause — which shall not die. 

Lo ! there are Gracchi even now among us — 

Tylers, and Cromwells, in the People's van : 
Lo ! there are beacons, which the Past has flung us, 
Flaming upon the throbbing heart of man ! 
109 
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ro 





Duganne. 




Wc have beheld an awful Ilaiul, inscribing 
Jehovah's sentence on the walls of Wrong ! 

Passed is the houi- for luirtli, and scorn, and gibing — 
Heaven's balance weighs the Just against the Stkono. 



THE ARTISAN. 

LIFT np thine iron hand — 
Thou of the stalwart arm and fearless eye ! 
Lift proudly, now, thine iron hand on high — 

Firm and undaunted stand ! 

ITo need hast thou of gems, 
To deck the temple of thy glorious thought : 
Thou hast the jewels which thy mind euwrought — 

Eicher than diadems ! 



Thou art our God's high-priest ! 
Standing before great Nature's mighty shrine ; 
For the whole woi-ld the glorious task is thine. 

To spread the eternal feast. 

Even like the Hebrew chief, 
Strikest thou on the rock, and, from its deep. 
Mysterious heart — the living watei-s leap, 

To give tlie earth relief. 






Poetical Works. 



IROS HARP. 



Mighty among thj- kind, 
Standest thou, mau of iron toil ! midway 
Between the earth and heaven, all things to swaj' 

By thy high-working mind ! 

Thou canst delve iu the eai'th, 
And from its niighty caves bring forth pure gold ; 
Thou canst unwrap the clouds iu heaven rolled, 

And give the lightnings birth. 

Thou hast the stormy sea 
Chained to thy chariot-wheels, and the wild winds 
Obey the o'er-ruling intellect that binds 

Their rushing wings to thee. 

Thou canst bid Thought go forth 
Upon the electric pinions of the air. 
And through the opposeless ether thou canst bear 

Thy words from South to North. 

Thou canst new lands create, 
Wliere the wild-rolling wave no mastery^ owns ; 
Aud the vast distance of opposing zones 

Canst thou annihilate ! 

Thou know'st heaven's ordinances — 
And their dominion in the earth thou seest I 
And the floods hear thee, in their shrouds of mist. 

And brinof their fruitfulness ! 



1? 





Duganne. 



IRON HAKP. 



Lift, then, tlij- hand to heaven ! 
Spread thy toil-sceptre o'er the sea and hind : 
Thou hast the world intrusted to thy hand — 

Earth to thy charge is given ! 




MEN OF THOUGHT. 

MEN who ponder, list to me ! 
In tlie depths of all j'our hearts. 
Something lives and something stai"ts : 

It would mount — it would be free — 

Chain it not, I counsel ye ! 

Men who in the furrow tread, 

Sowing seed Avithin the earth — 
Trusting in its future birth, — 

Lo ! within your hearts lies dead 

Seed that may be future bread ! 

Men whose lives wth toil are fraught — 
Ye who o'er the anvil bow, — 
In your souls, gaze ye now : 
There abides the anvil, xnoranT — 
There may mighty deeds be wrought ! 

1 1 : 






Poetical Works. 



IKON HAIll*. 

Acorns blossom to the oiik — 
Drops of rain to oceans swell : 
Dare not ye your thoughts to quell ! 
Never yet was truth outspoke, 
That hath not an echo woke ! 

Dare not ye your thoughts to hide ! 
On the waters cast your bread : 
Prophets were by ravens fed. 

If to speak it hath not tried, 

Then is Thought a suicide ! 



Speak ye, men of thought ! speak out — 

Trust ye still response to find ! 

Thoughts will wake in kindred mind ; 
Even as the arousing shout 

Starts reply from caverns deep. 

Echoes, till ye speak, will sleep. 

' Patch not ancient lies with new ! 
Moths will seek their old abode : 
Build on sand a marble road, 
And 'twill sink its basis through. 
Rivets in a rotten shield 
Will but make it sooner yield. 



jp,- 






Duganne. 

IRON HAEP. 

Wliat though ye be weak and few ? 

"What though never a sunbeam smiles ? 

Insects build the coral isles — 
Insects pierce the ocean through : 

Ye are men — and will ye quail, 

When the insect did not fail ? 

Clothed with nightshade thrive the oaks : 
Truth, though bound in shackles, thrives; 
Error forgeth her own gyves. 

As itself the nightshade chokes. 

Stars, and flowers, and all things bright, 
"Work through darkness into light. 

Speak ye, then, to echoing souls. 
Till the eternal concave sound — 
Till around Creation roll 

. Voices from the vast profound : 

Even like the glorious shouts that rang, 
Wten morning stars together sang. 



WORDS OF HOPE. 




DREAMERS! wake ye from your revery- 
Sleepers ! rouse ye from your sleep ! 

Wrong and vice, in virtue's liveiy. 
Round ye like the serpents creep 
"4 





Poetical Works. 




IRON HARP. 

Men are drops, and God the ocean : 

Lives are streams that flow to heaven : 
Ye must act in mingling motion, 
Else to vapors ye are driven ! 

Fix your glances on futurity: 

Lo ! Avhere beams the day-spring bright ! 
Ye may yet kuovv^ joy and purity — 

Darkness may be changed to light ! 

God sleeps not, though sleeps humanity ; 

Still he moves in fire and cloud : 
Heaven is not a vast inanity — 

Earth is more than mankind's shroud ! 

Good is in our race, though hidden — 
Peace is mightier far than strife : 

Earth may yet be made an Eden, 
Heaven be reached in mortal life 1 

There is naught so high and holy. 
As the hope vrhich conquers pain : 

In yourselves, ye crushed and lowly, 
Lives the power to rise again ! 

Trust not that which startles reason — 
Good can ne'er be gained by ill ; 

All that chains, or clouds, is treason — 

Naught is powerful, but "I will !" 

"5 





Duganne. 

IRON HARP. 

Would ye read the Eternal's mystery ? 

Like blind Bartimeus pray ! 
Eyes that best discern God's history, 

Were auoiuted first with clay. 

Gaze from well-deeps into heaven, 
And ye see the stars at noon ; 

Thus to lowly sense is given 
Reason's best and richest boon ! 

Not one grain of earth's material 
Ever was or shall be lost : — 

And shall Man's great soul ethereal 
Be to dark oblivion tost ? 

Boldly speak — ^reluctant lisper ! 

Truth's appeal will mount on high : 

Each brave word — each feeble whisper- 
Once breathed out, can never die ! 



LIFE S ODYSSEY. 





BROTHERS mine! we are on life's ocean- 
Stout our bark and the wind astern ; 

Hearts wound up to a brave devotion : 
"We shall suffer — we shall learn ! 




Poetical Works. 



IltOX HARP. 



Brothers mine ! now the blue wave kisses, 
Greets our prow with its lips of foam : 

We are bound, like the bold Ulysses, 
Onward, onward — wandering home. 

Helrnsmau ! grasp the obedient tiller ! 

Yonder swells the arising deep ; 
Here's Charybdis, and there is Scjlla — 

Storm and wi'eck between them sleep. 

List ye not to the Sirens' wooing — 
Speed ye on o'er the mystic wave: 

Slothftil rest is the soul's undoing — 
Pleasure's couch is Virtue's grave. 

Brothers mine ! to the struggle bend you — 
Ply your oars with an earnest strength ! 
Labor on till the gods befriend you : 

Home shall bless your hearts at length. 



PAST PRESENT FUTURE. 

anOST of the buried Past! 
Lo ! we invoke thee from the shroud of Ages — 
Even from the awful shroud of withered Time ! 
Come, with the lore of prophets and of sages ! 
Come, with thy mystic truths, and thoughts sublime, 
Like raiment round thee cast ! 

"7 






Duganne. 

IRON HARP. 

Clad in his iron mail, 
Yet trembling in the shadowy light uncertain, 

Standeth the Present, like the monarch Saul ; 
To lift the darksome Future's mighty cui-tain. 
Calling dead Samuel from his m^^stic pall — 
Dead Samuel, cold and pale ! 

A weak and frail old man, 
And bowed beneath the weight of thy foretelling, 

Art thou, phantom of the buried years ! 
Lo ! as we bend, like Saul, with bosoms swelling, 
Scarce (through the cloudy mantle of thy tears) 
May we thy featm-es scan. 

Even like that twain of old. 
To speak and hear the solemn words of warning,— 

Prophet and King, the Past and Present stand : 
This, as a corpse — no gems nor crown adorning — 
And this, with crested brow and sceptred hand, 
A monarch stern and bold ! 



List we the Prophet's cry — 
The Past, the Present, and the Future's story : 

Samuel, and Saul, and Daa'id, live once more ; 
Soon shall the new-born light beam forth in glory — 
Soon shall the darkness of our world be o'er: 
The Future draweth nigh ! 

ii8 




Poetical Works. 

IRON HAKP. 

Read we the parable — 
ITo more the living dead oar earth shall cumber ! 
The mighty strife of human hearts shall cease ! 
The djdng Present with the Past shall slumber — 
Aud Man awake to hail the Future's peace ! 
Read we the lesson well ! 



THE LAMENT OF PAN. 

LISTEN to the heart of old Pan (')— how it sobbcth 
For Man : how it swelleth with sorrow, and throbbeth 
"With horror, and river-like poureth its tears — 
And with agony score th the column of years ! 

Listen to the wail of old Pan — how he groaneth 
For Man — how he striveth in terror, and moaneth, 
Wliile Error her serpents would throw on his life — 
Like the old Laoc6(5n in temble strife ! 

Listen to the prayer of old Pan — while he bleedeth 

For Man ! how, beneath each dread curse, he yet pleadeth 

For mercy — for saviors, to free us from blight — 

!b For some new Prometueus to bring heaven's light ! 
"9 




Dup-anne. 



IRON HAKP. 





Listen to the story of Pan — ^how he speaketh 

For Man : how, with holy endeavor, he seeketh 

Forever on Man to bestow a fair fame — 

And, like Shem with old ISToah, concealeth his shame. 

Listen to the hope of old Pan — how prophetic 
For INIan: how, though darkly he gropeth, ecstatic 
He hopeth for succor fi-om Heaven at length ; 
When that time shall have given the N'azarite strength. 

Listen to the words of old Pan — and be ruthful 
To ISIan : blessed Psyche, be loving and truthful ; 
And, proving forever thy mission on earth, 
Let thy holy contrition give happiness buth ! 



LIVE THEM DOWN. 

BROTHER ! art thou poor and lowly, 

Toiling, drudging day by day, 
Journeying painfully and slowly, 

On thy dark and desert way ? 
Pause not — though the proud ones frown ! 
Sink not, fear not ! — Live them down ! 

Though to Vice thou shalt not pander. 
Though to Virtue thou mayst kneel, 

I20 

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l^=- 



T 



Poetical Works. 



IRON HARP. 



Yet thou shalt escape not slander ; 
Jibe and lie thy soul must feel ; 
Jest of witling — curse of clown : 
Heed not either ! — Live them down ! 




Hate may wield her scourges horrid ; 

Malice may thy woes deride ; 
Scorn may bind with thorns thy forehead ; 

Envy's spear may pierce thy side ! 
Lo! through Cross shall come the Crown ! 
Fear not foemen ! — ^Live them down ! 



THE ANGELS. 



ANGEL OF HOPE: 



IP 



I HEAR thy wings, my sister, 
Though the night is dark around thee — 
Oh, those wings are drooping heavily, 
As if the tempest bound thee. 
Tell me, sister — whither now ? 
Whence and whei-efore journeyest thou? 



ANGEL OF SUFFERING : 



I come — Oh, I come. 

From the hapless realms, 

Wliere souls are dumb, 
Wliere wrono- o'erwhelms; 



-==B' 




Duganne. 

IKON HAHP. 

From the laud where the Famine hath heeu — 
Hath been and will be again ; 
And wring the hearts of desperate men 

With slow, consuming jjaiu, — 
Till souls that once were free from sin 

Are black as the soul of Cain ! 
Famishing mothers, and famishing sires, 

And sons with hearts of hate ; 
Lighting their terrible signal-fij-es, 
Piling their hovels in funeral pyi'es — 
Lj'ing in wait. 
With hearts of hate, 
At the cruel tyrant's gate ! 
Earth is mighty, and earth hath room 

For millions of souls unborn ; 
Harvests smile, and orchards bloom. 

And fields are heavy with corn ! 
And yet there cometh the Famine's doom, 
And the livid Plague's despairing gloom. 
O'er Erin's laud forlorn ! 



Heaveia helpeth — Heaven helpeth — 
Though the clouds may darkly frown 

Heaven lifts the poor and wretched — 
Heaven brings the haughty down ! 

Trust in heaven, suflering Angel : — 
Sorrow seals the true evangel ! 







Poetical Works 



^^^ 



IRON HARP. 



I have beeu to the darksome mine, 

Where Albion's iufunt slaves 
lu wretchedness toil — in hopelessness pine, 
From birth to earth ; — 
Nor joy nor mirth 
From cradles unto graves ! 
Children with withered hearts, 
And maidens with never a maiden's shame, — 

Toiling and toiling till life departs, 
Li^'^ng and dying without a name ; 
Living forever to labor and labor, 
Cursing their lords, 
With horrible words, — 
Wrestling with brother, and struggling with neighbor. 




ANGEL OF hope: 




Heaven is mighty ! and God is good ! 

Little of love is underetood ! 

Yet Cometh the hour 

Of Beauty and Power — 

Cometh the glorious day — 

When Eight shall be Might, 

And Darkness Light, 
And Wrong be swept away. 




T 




Duganne. 

IKON HAEP. 

THE world's lie. 

I LOOKED from out the grating 

Of my spirit's dungeon-cell — 
And I saw the Life-tide rolling, 

"With a sullen, angry swell ; 
And the battle-ships were riding 

Like leviathans in pride — 
While their cannon-shot were raining 

On the stormy human tide. 
Then my soul in anguish wept, 

Sending forth a wailing cry : 
Said the "World, " This comes from heaven !' 

Said my soul, " It is a LIE !" 




I looked fi-om out the grating 

Of my spuit's dungeou-cell — 
And a sound of mortal moaning 

On my reeling senses fell ; 
And I heard the fall of lashes. 

And the clank of iron chains, 
And I saw where Men were writhing 

Under Slavery's cruel pains. 
Then my soul looked up to God, 

With a wo-beclouded eye : 
Said the World, " This comes fi-om heaven ! 

Said my soul, "It is a LIE!" 
124 




t 



Poetical Works. 

IRON HARP. 

I looked from out the grating 

Of my spirit's dungeon-cell — 
And I heard the solemn tolling 

Of a malefactor's knell ; 
And I saw the frowning gallows 

Reared aloft in awful gloom, 
While a thousand eyes were gloating 

O'er a felon's horrid doom. 
And a shout of heartless mirth 

On the wind was rushing by : 
Said the "World, "This comes from heaven !" 

Said my soul, "It is a LIE!" 

I looked from out the grating 

Of my spirit's dungeon-cell — 
Where the harvest-wealth was blooming 

Over smiling plain and dell ; 
And I saw a million paupers 

With their foreheads in the dust — 
And I saw a million workers 

Slay each other for a crust ! 
And I cried, " God above ! 

Shall thy People always die?" 
Said the World, " This comes from heaven !" 

Said my soul, "It is a LIE 1" 




i 




Duganne. 




IRON HAKF. 

MEN OF MY COUNTRY. 

MEN of my country ! Earth is wide — 

And souls ai'e kindred still ! 
Tyrants with hate men's hearts divide — 

Freedom with love will thrill ! 
Oh ! not enough — oh ! not enough, 

That ye nor rob nor kill ; 
Your brethren ye must nerve and guide 

With your own glorious will. 

Men of my country ! lo ! your keels 

Are ploughing eveiy sea : 
Still, wheresoe'er the bright sun wheels, 

There in your might are ye ! 
Yet not enough — oh ! not enough, 

That ye yourselves are free — 
Still wheresoe'er a patriot kneels 

There must your mission be ! 

Men of my country ! lo ! our God 
Your destiny hath planned : 

Where'er a tyrant lifts his rod. 
There must ye stay his hand ! 

Oh ! not enough — oh ! not enough. 

That heaven hath blessed our land— 

Where'er the soul of man is trod, 

There must ye make your stand. 
126 



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Poetical Works. 



IRON HARP. 




HOPE YE ALWAY. 



YO UNCr hearts ! hope ever ! 
There's no time for repining while work is undone — 
There's no harvesting time save when shineth the sun. 

O repine ye, then, never ! 

True heart ! sink never ! 
Though darkly the clouds overshadow thy sky, 
Yet the sun will heam forth, when the shadows roll by ; 

Darkness lasteth not ever ! 

Fond heart ! faint never ! 
Though Eros may journey full many a mile, 
There's an AnterosC) somewhere, with welcoming smile : 

Love endureth forever ! 




THE SMITHY. 

THE night is dark — the road is blind- 
The traveller's heart is dreary : 

Fogs rise before, rain falls behind; 
Both man and steed are weary. 

The floods pour fast on either side. 
The ground beneath half crumbles ; 

The panting horse, with nostrils wide. 
Neighs, starts, and -wTldly stumbles. 





Duganne. ^^jji£l@J 




IKOX HARP. 

But hark ! kling, klang ! a hammer-sound — 

Stout hammer-blows on iron ; 
And now a bright blaze gleams around 

The shadows that environ. 

"N'ow, God be praised!" the traveller cries — 

" The road no more is dreary ! 
"For there the smith his anvil plies — 

" There burns his forge so cheery. 

"Eling, klang ! the music glads mine ear — 
" The blaze my path enlightens ; 

" There shines it brightly far and near : 
"Stream, road, and hill it brightens." 

The traveller spurred his steed once more — 
The steed pressed onward lightly ; 

Till soon before the smithy door 
"Was drawn his bridle tightly. 

Thus said the traveller to the smith — 
" Strike on, strike on, my master ! 

" Our God is still thy labors with : 
" Strike on, then, fast and faster ! 

" And let thy forge-blaze brighter gleam — 
" Thy hammer-strokes ring louder : 

"Kling-klang thy blows ! for well I deem 
" K"o task than thine is pi-ouder ! 





Poetical Works. nO(^ 




IRON HARP. 

" For Labor's blows shall wake mankind 

" "With strokes of toil Titanic — L, 

" And forge-like shine the Toiler's mind ! — y 



" Strike on, then, brave Mechanic !" 



THE PAUPER S PLACE. 

WRY art thou sad, father ? why is thy brow o'ercast ? 
Thus I spake a sorrowing man 
Whom I oft passed : 

Sitting alone by the wayside, begging his daily bread — 
Blind he was, and snows of age 
Whitened his head. 

"Grieving I am," he answered — "grieving I well maybe ; 
" There's no place in burial ground 
For such as me." 

Truly, (I said,) my fathei- — buried thou'It be, I ween : 
Charity will bestow thee place 
In churchyard green. 

Answered to me that old man, sorrowful answered he : > 
" Poor-house bed and surgeon's board 
Are place for me !" 



§m^' 





Duganne. 



IRON HARP. 



THE POOR. 





THE storm is out upoa the air — 

I hear its hollow sound, 
As, seated in my elbow-chair, 

In silent thought profound, 
I listen to the dropping rain. 

That patters on each pane. 

Now, shrieldng through the stormy night, 

The wind is rushing wild ; 
And far above in heaven's height 

The murky clouds are piled : 
And not a single star looks down 

To smile away the frown. 

The signs are creaking in the street, 

The vanes are whirling fast ; 
And drearily the driving sleet 

Is borne upon the blast ; 
And gusty rain, and icy hail, 

The close-barred doors assail ! 

The watchman shriuketh in his box, 

As fast the chill rain falls. 

And with the clanging city clocks 

His solemn warning calls — 
130 




Poetical Works 



IRON HARP. 



Or, closer in his mautle wound, 
Reluctant stalks his round ! 



But wandering up and down the streets. 

Amid the chilly mist. 
Oh ! many hapless ones he meets 

Upon his round, I wist ; 
The child of shame, of want, of wo, 

Who wanders to and fro. 




Ah me ! how many houseless ones 

Are sinking on the ground — 
The outcast, whom the proud one shuns — 

Who pity never found, — 
The fiieudless and the oi-phan child, 

Amid the storm so wald. 

Creeping away through alleys old, 

Before the tempest drear; 
With hunger cramped — benumbed with cold. 

And shivering with fear, — 
The sad one bendeth down his form, 

Before the miduiffht storm. 



MHT 



Oh ! there are little children there. 
With lean and shrunken limbs. 

Within whose eye the tear of care 
The light of childhood dims — 
'J' 





Duganne. 

IRON HARP. 

Pale lips they have, and cheeks so white- 
Oh ! 'tis a fearful sight ! 

Hear ye the wind that whistles by — 
thoughtless sons of pride ? 

On it was borne their broken sigh 
Who in the streets abide. 

Ye on your beds of down will sleep — 
They on the stones must weep. 

Feel ye the glowing flame that warms 
Your luxury-lapp'd couch ? — 

Oh ! could ye mark the wasted forms 
Along the streets that croiich, — 

Ye might perchance a moment feel 
Your blood, like theirs, congeal ! 

O ! that I had what ye in mirth. 
Or worse than mii-th, expend ! — 

I'd buy the noblest name on earth — 
" The wretched outcast's friend !" 

And treasure up — as incense pure — 
The blessings of the Poor. 







Poetical Works 



IRON HAEP. 



THE POET. 




LIKE the wandering camp of Israel, in the wilder- 
ness of ZiN, 

Is the mighty world we dwell in, vAih. its turmoil and 
its din ; 

And the Poet, like old Moses, when his thoughts to 
God aspire, 

Holdeth commune with high Heaven, on his spirit's 
Mount of Fire. 

From the camp of old opinions, and the strife of 

earthly things, 
To the Sinai of his spirit, lo! the trusting Poet 

springs : 
And the glorious words of Genius, by Jehovah's 

fingers wrought, 
Like the tablets of high teachings, are engraven on his 

thought. 

Then, with ardent hopes and longings, to the camp of 

men he turns. 
While the reflex of God's splendor on his lofty forehead 

burns : 
Lo ! they kneel before an idol — lo ! they worship 
senseless gold, 
the wilderness idolaters, before the calf of old 
•33 





Duganne. 



lEON HABP. 



^ Can ye blame the lofty Poet that he turns in scorn 

away 
From the grovelling souls around him that are moulded 

in the clay ? 
Can ye blame him, if, despairing, he shall dash his 

thoughts to earth : — 
Break the tablets of his genius, that iu God have had 

their birth ? 



HOPE ON. 

SOPH on ! 
Even when thy heaven is clouded, 

Seest thou not, 
Where the dark night is shrouded. 

Stars look out ? 
Though they are hidden, still they shine- 
Soon shalt thou see their light divine! 

Hope on ! 
Often the dark shadow falleth 

Over thy soul : 
O'er thee the storm that appalleth 

Often must roll : 

Yet but remembci', light must be. 

Else were the shadoiv unseen by thee ! 
•34 

-^S'e^"'^ -'^ 





Poetical Works 



IRON HABP. 



THE TOILER S HOPE. 



rSS^ 



ON this old and glorious earth, 
Toiling all their lifetime through, 

Millions live who from their birth 
Still have bowed them to the few : 

They have bent, and groaned, and striven, 

By the lash of misery driven, — 

^VTiat hath God to these men given ? 

Toiling, toiling, still they bear — 

Still to toil the master urges ; 
If a murmuring word they dare. 

Straight 'tis hushed by tyrant scourges. 
Yet these men have deathless spirits ; 
Life from God each heart inherits, — 
Tell me, then, if death it merits ! 

Gold hath made these mortals slaves ; 

Gold hath bowed their suppliant hands ; 
Fi'om their birthdays to their graves. 

Chained are they with cruel bands : 
They have suffered — they have waited — 
They have been as outcasts rated : 
Bay — were they by God thus fated? 
•35 





Duganne. 

^9= ^ 



IRON HARP. 




God will give these bondmen Mends — 

Friends of tliouglit, and friends of action: 
Thoughts that shape out glorious ends — 

Acts that are not ruled by faction. 
And these fiiends, in truth and reason, 
(Holding noble deeds no treason,) 
Soon will crush the bondman's prison. 



EARTH-SHARING. 

LISTEN, workers ! Hsten ! 
Ye who all your lives are toiling. 
In the field and workshop moiling, — 
Lo ! your serpent-wi-ongs are coiling 

Closer round you. Listen ! 

Ponder, workers ! ponder ! 
"While ye poise your iron sledges, 
While ye fix your rending wedges, — 
Lo ! your strength and skill are pledges 

Of your manhood. Ponder ! 

Listen, workers ! listen ! 
Sledges may crush else than matter : 
"Wedges may your curses scatter, — 
Toilers once again may batter 

Moral Bastiles. Listen ! 

>3« 





Poetical Works. 



))P 



mON HARP. 



Ponder, workers ! ponder ! 
God gave equal earth to mortals, 
Ere they crossed fair Eden's portals : — 
Where's the ancient law that foretells 

Mortal slavery ? Ponder ! 

Answer, workers ! answer ! 
Have the woes which ye are bearing, 
Have the chains your limbs are wearing, 
Palsied all the hope and daring 

Of your spirits ? Answer ! 

Listen, workers ! listen ! 
Earth is yours — the broad, wide guerdon 
Given to man with life's first burden ; — 
God hath set his seal and word on 

Man's true title. Listen ! 

Ponder, workers ! ponder ! 
Hold this truth within your keeping. 
Till the harvest you are reaping : — 
God is landlord, and unsleeping 

Watches o'er you. Ponder ! 







Duganne. 



HEART AND SOUL. 



HUMAN heart ! by weary sorrow withered — 
soul ! in darkness to obli\aon groping ; — 
"Why are ye now no longer bravely hoping ? 

Why is the mighty will so chained and tethered ? 
Answer me, Heart and Soul. 

Alas ! we dare not with our curses wi'estle, 

Each abject thought in willing slavery crouches: 

Alas ! men sleep while woes among them nestle — 
l>festle, like snakes, within their very couches. 

O human heart ! these woes are not forever — 
O human soul ! gird on thy holy armor : 
Ye may dissolve the spell and foil the charmer ; 

Ye may at once each rusted shackle sever. 
Why weep, then. Heart and Soul ? 

'Tis that the sons of men in crime are suckled — 
Infants in years are dotards in deceiving : 
Sorrows, like leeches, to men's hearts are cleaving — 

Want, like a slave-chain, on the soul is buckled. 

human heart! to thee hath Hope been given ; 

human soul ! thy purpose ne'er should falter : 
Trust that the flame of Love shall fall from Heaven — 
Fall and illume Truth's long-benighted altar ! 
Hope je still, Heart and Soul ! 
138 





Poetical Works 



IKO.V HARP. 




TRUST IN GOD. 

FA TMER in heaven ! my spirit knew Thee not ! 
But when the fearful storm, that wrecked my heart, 

Beat round the fortress of my life, and wrought 
My brain to madness — and the poisoned dart 
Of hopeless gi-ief (uncured, unreached by art) 

Was rusting in my soul, — my maddened thought. 

Concentrate, burst its bonds, and its Creator sought. 

Thee, God ! I saw. My spii'it-eyes looked out. 
And (through the cloud-veil of the world) beheld 

The throned and radiant Conqueror of Doubt : 
The mists of human passion were dispelled — 
My soul shook oft" the terror that had quelled 

The life within it, and, in joy devout. 

Echoed the seraph-song, and swelled the triumph-shout. 

Mysterious God ! my spirit looked on Thee ! 
Thee — the Eternal ! High ! Unchangeable ! 

Back, through the vista of eternity. — 
All that the soul's imaginings might tell 
I saw, and leaped, rejoicing, from the spell 

That bound me in my mortal destiny. — 

My soul forsook its chains, in its Creator free ! 

■39 





Duganne. 



GOD AND MAN. 

LST nature judge ! Are all things right? 

Or is the Present wrong ? 
Why are there wo, and shame, and blight, 

To paralyze my song ? 

My soul would wind itself in love 

Around all human things ! — 
For struggling man to mount above, 

My songs should be as wings ! 

Why do the outcast crowd my path, 

And fasten on my heart ? 
Why do the vicious wake my wrath, 

Or cause my tears to start ? 

It is not right ! I ask ye all, — 

As God is just and wise, — 
Why vice still holds mankind in thrall ? 

Why virtue, struggling, dies ? 

Man on his brother's heart hath trod — 

Man is man's mortal foe ; 
Man is antagonist to God ! — 

This only do I know. 

God help us ! we have threescore years 

And ten, at most, to live — 
And yet we scatter griefs and tears ! — 

We pray — yet ne'er forgive ! 





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Poetical Works. 



5SV-f 



IRON HARP. 



OUR MOTHER EARTH. 

WHENCE arise the springs that nourish 

All Creation from its birth ? 
Whence spring up the oaks, and flourish ?- 

From the Earth — our mother Earth ! 
Where are gems and crystals hidden ? 

Where are ores of wondrous worth ? 
Whence are fire and heat upbidden ? — 

From the Earth — our mother Earth ! 




Whence arise the green oases, 

In the desert's sandy dearth? 
What is life's support and basis ? 

'Tis the Earth — our mother Earth ! 
Bread, and fire, and crystal water — 

All within our being's girth : 
Gold and gems, to those who sought her,- 

Hath she given — mother Earth ! 

She is Mankind's nurse and servant — 

Still our mother and our slave : 
Still the same, in labor fervent, 

From our birth-day to our grave ! 
Never yet hath God ordained her 

To 'be trodden by the few ! 
Grasping lords have but profaned her ; 

And their crime they yet shall rue ! 
141 



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§=- 




Duganne. 



IRON HARP. 



Like the seed withiu her bosom, 

Sleeps a future, yet, of Right ! — 
Man shall see his hopes in blossom ! 

Man shall yet reveal his might ! 
Then, no one, above another. 

Shall assert his nobler birth ; 
But each man shall share his mother — 

Share his glorious mother — Earth! 



THE UNSOLD LANDS. 



A BILLION of acres of unsold land(') 

Ai'e lying in grievous dearth ; 
And millions of men in the image of God 

Are starving — all over the earth ! 
Oh ! tell me, ye sons of America ! 

How much men's lives are worth ! 

Ten hundi-ed millions of acres good, 
That never knew spade nor plough ; — 

And a million of souls, in our goodly land, 
Are pining in want, I trow : 

And orphans are ciying for bread this day, 
And widows in misery bow ! 
142 



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Poetical Works. 



IHON HAEP. 

To whom do these acres of laud belong ? 

Aud why do they thriftless lie ? 
And why is the widow's lament unheard — 

Aud stifled the oi-phan's cry ? 
And why are the poor-house and jail so full — 

Aud the gallows-tree built high ? 

Those millions of acres belong to Man ! 

And his claim is — that he needs ! 
And his title is sealed by the hand of God — 

Our God ! who the raven feeds : 
And the starving soul of each famished man 

At the throne of justice pleads ! 

Ye may not heed it, ye haughty men, 
Wliose hearts as rocks are cold ! — 

But the time will come when the fiat of God 
In thunder shall be told ! 

For the voice of the great I AM hath said. 
That " the land shall not be sold !" 




EPIGRAM. 

" God help me !" cried the Poor Man : 
And the Rich Man said, " Amen !" 

And the Poor Man died at the Rich Man's door : 
God helped the Poor Man then ! 



b(3=- 



"43 





Duganne. ____^j^J 



IRON HASP. 




THE LANDLESS. 

TSU landless ! the landless ! 

The wrestlers for a crust — 
Behold to outer darkness 

These wi'etched men are thrust. 
I hear their sullen moanings ; 

Their curses low and deep ; 
And I see their bodies writhing 

Like a maniac in his sleep ! 
Will no lightning rend their fetters ? 

"Will no sunbeam pierce their eyes ? — 
In the name of truth and manhood, 

Will they never — never rise ? 

The landless ! the landless ! 

They have no household gods : 
Their father's graves are trampled — 

For strangers own the sods. 
They have no home nor country — 

No roof nor household hearth, — 
Though all around them blossometh 

The beautiful glad earth ! 
They fight a stranger's battles. 

And they build a stranger's dome — 
But the landless ! — the landless ! 

God help them ! — have no home ! 
'44 



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Poetical Works. 



lEON HAKP. 



-^y^Sz 



HOMES FOR THE HOMELESS. 

HOMES for the homeless ! 

Our prayers still rise : 
Justice is faithful — 

And Truth never dies. 
Eoses for nettles, 

And plenty for dearth ; 
Homes for the homeless, 

On God's free earth. 



-@,g^€/Tr^ 



Homes for the orphan — 

The widow forlorn ; 
Homes for the exile — 

Where'er he was born. 
Give us, country ! 

Our right to the soil : — 
Earth shall he gladsome 

"With generous toil. 

Homes for the homeless — 

"Wlio famish for bread — 
Earth for the living, 

And earth for the dead. 
Give us our birthright, 

tyrannous gold ! 
The land is our charter — 

It shall not be sold ! 
■45 



-^-fi^sSft 




Duganne. 

:9=- ^ 



.EON HARP. 





THE ACRES AND THE HANDS 



^'■THJE eai-th is tlie Lord's, aud the fulness thereof," 

Said God's most holy word : — 
The water hath fish, and the land hath flesh, 

Aud the air hath many a bird ; 
And the soil is teeming o'er all the earth. 

And the earth has numberless lands ; 
Yet millions of hands want acres — 
While millions of acres want hands ! 

Sunlight, and breezes, and gladsome flowers. 

Are over the earth spread wide ; 
Aud the good God gave these gifts to men — 

To men who on earth abide : 
Yet thousands are toiling in poisonous gloom, 
And shackled with iron bands, — 
While millions of hands want acres — 
And millions of acres want hands ! 

Never a foot hath the poor mau here, 

To plant with a grain of corn ; 
And never a plot where his child may cull 
Fresh flowers in the dew;^' morn. 
The soil lies fallow — the woods grow rank ; 
Yet idle the poor mau stands ! 
Oh! millions of hands want acres — 
And millions of acres want hands ! 

146 
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Poetical Works. 



IROS HARP. 




Tis writ, that "ye shall not muzzle the ox 

That treadeth out the corn !" 
But behold! ye shackle the poor man's hands, 
That have all earth's burdens borne ! 
The LAND is the gift of a bounteous God — 

And TO LABOR his word commands, — 
Yet millions of hands want acres — 
And millions of acres want hands ! 

Who hath ordained that the Few should hoard 

Their millions of useless gold ? — 
And rob the earth of its fruits and iiowers, 

While profitless soil they hold ? 
Who hath ordained that a parchment scroll 
Shall fence I'ound miles of lands, — 
When millions of hands want acres — 
And millions of acres want hands ! 

'Tis a glaring lie on the face of day — 
This robbery of men's rights ! 
'Tis a lie, that the word of the Lord disowns — 

'Tis a curse that burns and blights ! 
And 'twill burn and blight till the people rise, 

And swear, while they break their bands- 
That the hands shall henceforth have acres, 
And the acres henceforth have hands ! 



•47 






g'/c'SVSi- 



Duganne. 



IRON HABP. 



KEEP IT BEFORE THE PEOPLE. 

KEEP IT BEFORE THE PEOPLE — 

That the earth was made for man ! 

That flowei-s were strewn, 

And fruits were grown, 
To bless and never to ban ; 

That sun and rain, 

And corn and grain, 
Are yours and mine, my brother I — 

Free gifts from heaven, 

And freely given. 
To one as well as another ! 




Keep it befoee the people — 

That man is the image of God ! 
His limbs or soul 
Ye may not control 

With shackle, or shame, or rod ! 
"We may not be sold, 
For silver or gold : 

Neither you nor I, my brother ! 
For Freedom was given, 
By God fi'om heaven, . 

To one as well as another ! 



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Poetical Works. 

IRON HARP. 

Keep it before the people — 
That famiue, and crime, and wo, 

Forever abide. 

Still side by side, 
With luxury's dazzling show; 

That Lazarus crawls 

From Dives' halls, 
And starves at his gate, my brother ! — 

Yet Life was given, 

By God from heaven, 
To one as well as another ! 

Keep it before the people — 
That the laborer claims his meed : 

The right of Soil, 

And the right to toil, 
From spur and bridle freed ; 

The right to bear, 

And the right to share, 
With you and me, my brother ! — 

Whatever is given. 

By God from heaven. 
To one as well as another ! 






Duganne. 



IKON HAKP. 





THE POOR MAN S FATHERLAND. 



WHERE is the Poor Man's Fatherland ? 

Is 't where his sire was wed ? 
Is 't where his mother, with gentle hand, 

His infant footsteps led ? 
Not so, not so ! he knoweth well 
That strangers now in that old home dwell. 

Where is the poor man's Fatherland ? 

Is 't where his childhood passed ? 
Is 't where, like river o'er golden sand, 

His gladsome youth fled fast ? 
ISTot so, not so ! wo worth the day ! 
He wanders far from those scenes away. 

Where is the poor man's Fatherland? 

Is 't where he toils and strives ? 
Is 't where he heareth a lord's command, 

Or weareth pauper gyves ? 
Not so, not so ! his master's will 
May cast him forth — as a wanderer still. 





Poetical Works. 



IRON HARP. 



Truly lie liatli no Fatherland ! 

On all this wide, wide earth ; 
In life he dwclleth by penury banned, 

An alien from his birth ; 
And dead, he hath no rood of ground — 
Not even the space of a churchyard mound ! 




o 



Truly, Lord ! why tarricst thou ? 

Thy children, suffering, wait : 
Their bread is eaten by sweat of brow, 

Within the stranger's gate. 
Yet hope they still — those alien Poor ; 
Thy Word for them is a Promise sure. 

Surely tliou seest a sparrow fall. 
And hearest the raven's cry ! 

And all the millions who dwell in thrall, 
Beneath thy mercies lie. 

With brow erect they soon shall stand. 

And all the earth be their Fatherland ! 



§m^^ 



151 






Duganne. 



IRON HAKP. 



WHO OWNETH AMERICA S SOIL. 

WHO owneth America's soil ? 
Is it he who graspeth the hard red gold ; 
Whose glittering gains are by millions told ; 
Who hindeth his slaves to the woof and loom, 
And chaineth their souls in a living tomb, — 

The tomb of hopeless toil ? 

ISTot he, not he — by Heaven ! 

Who shieldeth America's land ? 
Is it he who counteth his ships by scores ; 
Who plucketh his gains from a thousand shores ; 
Who buyeth and selleth, and worketh not, 
And holdeth in pride what by fraud he got — 

With hard and griping hand ? 

!N"ot he, not he — by Heaven ! 

Who guardeth America's right? 
Is it he who eateth the orphan's bread. 
And crusheth the poor with his grinding tread ; 
Who flingeth his bank-note lies abroad. 
And buildeth to worship a goldeii god, 

A shrine to Mammon's might? 

Not he, not he — by Heaven ! 






Poetical Works. 



IRON HARP. 



Not these, not these — by Heaven ! 
But to those who labor for God and Man ; 
Who work their part in the world's great plan, — 
Who plant good seed in the desert's dearth. 
And bring forth treasures fi-om brave old Earth ; 
To these the soil is given — 
To these, to these — by Heaven ! 

To these must the soil belong : 
To the men of all climes whose souls are true — 
Or Pagan, or Christian, or Turk, or Jew ; 
To the men who will hallow our glorious soil — 
The millions who hope, and the millions who toil 
For the Right against the Wrong : 
To these shall the soil be given — 
To these, to these — by Heaven 




!#=- 



'5J 





Duganne. 



IRON HARP. 



EPODE. 



NO W Heaven's eternal stars, like fires, 
Gleam through the wintry sky ! 
I lift mine L'on Hai-p on high — 

I strike the last stroke on these wires, 
While sad winds hurry by- 



.^3Sl/p 



My task is not yet done, — but Night 

Gloometh around my brow : 

I stKiggle with my fate, yet bow ! 

I murmur not — for, high and bright, 
Those stai's shine on me now ! 

Those stars are signs that still on earth, 

Flashing amid our shames. 
And shining forth like altar-flames, 
Are loving hearts and souls of worth, 

With high and glorious names. 

Still golden harpiugs heavenward float — 

Wing-like to lift his soul — 
From HIM whose brook-like feelings stole 
Through music, like a dove's low note, 

Where Harvard's waters roll. 



/(^ 



'^^""VJ^ 



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Poetical Works. 

IRON HARP. 

Still Lowell clasps, like cherub strong, 
Lovingly clasps his lyi-e ; 
And flashes forth his heart of fire, 

And rolls the river of his song 
In fountains from each wire. 



Still Whittiek, with high purpose fraught, 

Toileth in Freedom's war : 
His harp-strings are the chains he tore 
From slaves, where rings his iron thought, 

Like hammer-strokes of Thor. 

Too long the Poet's falchion bright 

Sheathed in gold had slept ! 

The L-on Blade hath fitly leapt ; 

And now for Human Ruth and Right 
All Harps shall soon be swept. 




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«JS 




^§3=- 



Duganne. 




NOTES 



®l)c 3ron §axp. 



(1) Labor Tiath raised its Voice. 
Are not the "Crystal Palaces" and "Indus- 
trial Exhibitions'* of the present era to be re- 
garded as the mute aseertiona of Labor's claim 
to consideration 1 

(2) Out of Vie Strong comes Siceetness 

And he said unto them, Oat of the eater came 
forth meat, and out of the strong came forth 
sweetness. And they could not in three days 
expound the riddle.— Judf^es xiv. 14. 

(3) Shall he regained by Edom. 
And Esau said to Jacob, Feed me, I pray thee, 
with that same red pottage ; for I am faint : 
therefore was his name called Edom. And 
Jacob said, Sell me this day thy birthright.— 
Genesis xxv. 30, 31. 

(4) Gracchus! first martyr 

Tib. Semp. Gracchus, a noble Roman, stimu- 
lated by the abject condition of the loM'or classes 
of Roman citizens, attempted to revive a modi- 
fication of the Licinian law, In total contempt 
of which the patricians and men of opulence had, 
by a series of usurpations, appropriated to them- 



selves all the public lands. This excited the 
bitter resentment of the patrician party, by a 
faction of whom he was finally assassinated. — 
Flutarch Vit. Gracoh. 

(5) Listen to the heart of old Pan 

Pan— the principle of universal natum, aa im- 

bodied in the Greek and Roman mytholog7. 

(6) There's an Anteros sotnetohere •■ 
AwTEROs is the god of mutual love and tender- 
ness—whom Eros is continually seeking. "When 
Venus complained that her son Cupid always 
seemed a child, she was told that if he bad a 
brother, he would grow up in a short space of 
time. As soon as Anteros was born, Cupid felt 
his strength increase and bis wings enlarge, but 
if ever his brother was away from him, he found 
himself reduced to his ancient shape. From 
this circumstance it is seen that return of 
passion gives vigor to love.— Ctc. del^at. 

(7) "The United States claim more than 
1,000,000,000 acres of unsettled lands."— Senate 
Document, 416. XXIXth Congress, (last ses- 




»5« 




I 



Poetical Works. 




^arnassus in <PiIIor5. 



ShA£3PEARK. 






m^ 




T 



Duganne. 



t^^ 



James Lesley, Jr. 



AS AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF APPRECIATION, 

SCIifs Satttf 



IS DEDICATED BY 



MOTLEY MANNERS, Esq. 



<Ljl » 



-=tif 




Poetical Works 




Parnassus in piBopg, 



THOU who whilome, with unsparing jibe 
And scorching satire, lashed the scrib- 
bling tribe ; 
Thou, who on Roman pimp and parasite 
Didst pour the vials of thy righteous spite ; — 
Imperial Horace ! let thy task be mine — 
Let truth and justice sanctify my line ! 





And thou ! relentless Draco of the schools, 
Whose laws were scored upon the backs of fools ! — 
Thou bi-tongued genius, from whose magic lips 
Poison for knaves, for good men honey, drips ! 
Thou Poet-Lacon, withering with a verb, 
And reining folly with a figure's curb, — 
Thou of the Dunciad ! animate my strain ; 
For vain my task if 'tis not in thy vein ! 






,^ ^ Dueanne. ^ 

PARNASSUS IN PILLORT. 

As in some butcher's barricaded stall, 
A thousand prisoned rats gnaw, squeak, and crawl, 
While at the entrance, held by stalwart hands, 
A panting terrier strives to burst his bands ; — 
"With ej^es inflamed and glittering teeth displayed, 
Half turns to bite the hand by which he's stayed ; — 
So wiithes and pants my terrier muse to chase 
The rats of letters fi'om creation's face. 



Far scurvier vermin these, my biped game : 

Eats gnaw but books — these gnaw the author's fame ; 

Holding Parnassus as a mammoth cheese, 

"Which, climbing not, they nibble as they please ; 

And plying tooth and claw so fast and well, 

That the whole mount is like a hollow shell. 

Pharaoh was plagued with locusts for his crimes — 

Happy was Pharaoh to escape our times : 

When myriad insects, plumed with pens of steel. 

Buzz like some thrifty housewife's ceaseless wheel — 

Buzz, but beyond the buzz all likeness dwindles, 

Save that their brains be warps, their legs be spindles. 



Down, terrier, down ! we'll drop the canine form, 

And incarnate the buzzing insect-swarm. 

Let us invoke the Bards — as once, in "Wales, 

King Edward did — from mountains, swamps, and vales ; 

i6o 




(^i^Cq^ p^ Poetical Works. 



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c\ 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 




Couvened them all, then broke each harp and head :(') 
(Would that 0U7- bai'dri had such a wise King IvTed !) 
Let us invoke them — and, as up they spring, 
Shoot them, as hojs slioot crows upon the wing : 
Then shall their death-songs poetize the blast. 
Like dying swan-notes — sweet, because the last. 



Ah ! vain to strive — inglorious to succeed — 
To scotch the snake, yet not destroy its breed ; 
Small is the gain when for each foe that falls, 
A foe more mischievous mine ej'es appals ; 
Thus when the hydra's heads were struck to earth, 
The dust that formed them gave them fresher birth. 
Ah, gentle muse ! if e'er, with ardent fire, 
Thou seek'st to gild our cis-atlantic lyre, 
How must thy lips with heavenly satire smile, 
To note the hands which now that harp defile ! 
How must thy gaze, as o'er our glorious landscape 
It roves, (from Florida's far reef to Ann's cape,) — 
How must it blink, to mark the frenzied eyes 
Of myriad bards claii'voyant through the sides ! 
Oh, hapless land of mine ! whose country-presses 
Labor with poets and with poetesses ; 
Where Helicon is quafted like beer at table, 
And Pegasus is "hitched" in every stable; 
°) Where each smart dunce presumes to print a journal, 
Ox And every journalist is dubbed a " colonel ;" 

si 



§m^^' 





Duganne. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORT. 

Where lovesick girls on chalk and charcoal thrive, 
And prove (by singing) they're unfit to wive ; 
Where Gray might Miltons by the score compute — 
"Inglorious" all, but, ah ! by no means "mute." 



And whom to pounce on first — vengeful muse ? 
Faith! they're so near alike, 'tis hard to choose. 
A stereotyped and ancient form they bear — 
Like sheepskin smallclothes of a centur^'^'s wear. 
Jack Ketch, when felons are about to die, 
Divides their garments — but so will not I : 
Though rainbow-hued, like Joseph's coat, their dress 
(Should all exchange) could scarce fit each one less : 
Each eyes his fellow's garb with crafty glare — 
Some well-known patch he recognises there : 
Some button, stolen where he stole his own — 
Some diamond brooch, with ostentation shown, 
Wliich he will swear is paste, and, in a trice, 
Prove that he bought one like it, at half-price. 
Motley and mean in truth these bipeds be — 
A scurvier set ne'er marched thi'ough Coventry. 
And, what inflames mine anger as I gaze, 
His stolen shreds each knave with pride displays : 
This one w^ears breeches that might make his shroud — 
This in a child's caul his huge head would crowd ; 
This dabbles daintily with ¥reuch fairique — 
This wears a helmet o'er his visage sleek: 
162 




^^^M. 



Poetical Works. ,_5rw 



PARNASSUS IX PILLORir. 




\\b All stolen — all misused, and brought to waste! 
Y Gods ! if they must thieve, why not thieve with taste ? 

I 

I But, hold ! are these in truth Columbia's bards ? — 

Do such assume the muse's high regards ? 

Are there no souls where loud Niagara roars ? — 

No hearts on Mississippi's sounding shores ? 

Are there no ears where tempests rend the skies? — 

No eyes where forests gleam with myriad dyes ? 

No hai-ps where every air is melody ? — 

Ai'e there no songs where eveiy voice is free ? 

List, my muse ! amid the jargon dire 

Of screeching voice and worse than tuneless lyre ; 

'^lid all the din which racks our addled brains, 

I hear the rippling rivers of sweet strains : 

I hear where, trembling through the leafy glen, 

The poet's soul talks melody with men : 

I feel when Bryant — in his dreamy youth — 

Anoints my heart with loveliness and truth : 

I thrill with Halleck's ancient clasp of fire. 

And bow my heart to " Harvard's" earlier lyre ; (') 

While clarion sounds that swing beneath the stars. 

And crashing thoughts, like battling scimitars, 

EoU round me from the mighty harps of those 

Whose songs are victories over Freedom's foes. 

Well, well ! it may be that, amid the masses 
Who in our journals write themselves down asses : 
.6} 



MHT 






Duganne. 

PAKNASSUS IN PILLOUT. 

may be there exist some score or better 
Of bards as well in spirit as in letter. 
With these I've naught to do — or, if I scan them, 
To prove they've brains, it needs be I trepan them. 
I coBie here as a critic — as a satirist — 
And if I argue right or wrong, whose matter is't ? 
" ITorfolk ! we must have knocks I" — so, who's not equal 
To the encounter, may regret the sequel ! 

Poetry has its "amateurs" — who mle 
Their listless leisure with the muse's smile ; 
Who simper sweetly in a Milton's tongue, 
And lisp the lofty themes that Homer sung : 
Merely for pastime — really but in sport — 
To "try the hand" — or "keep it in" — in short. 
To show that if their own fame they had built on, 
Homer had sxiperseded been, and Milton. 

Our countiy swarms with bards who've "crossed the 

water," 
And think their native land earth's meanest quarter. 
Bards who have heard the gondoliers sing Tasso, 
Seen Arabs eat, and Indians throw the lasso ; 
Bards who have travelled, and of course must know 
All sorts of flowers that on Parnassus grow. 
Your "graceful poets" these — ^your "versifiers," 
Whose garlands are all roses and no briers ; 
164 






Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLOHY. 

^V^lo steam to Havre — take the Rhone or Rhine 
Ascend Mont Blanc half-way — then stop and dine ; 
Muse (just like Byron) on the Bridge of Sighs ; 
Quote Rogers freely ; prate of golden skies ; 
Eat maccaroni ; ask where " Peter's ke3-s" are ;(^) 
Find out what's meant bj^ " dead as Julius Ca?sar;" 
Take notes (on railroads) of tlie towns they ride 

through, 
(Until they get the "Traveller's Pocket Guide" 

through,) — 
Then home return, and (may the gods forgive them !) 
Print books whose leather shall at least outlive them. 




These good men are not dangerous — no ! far from it, 
Though each esteems himself a star or comet. 
And, faith, their muse describes eccentric orbits. 
As if her Pegasus had need of jawbits ; 
With foreign airs their sales are best inflated ; 
Pufls are they sure of who with wind are freighted ; 
Truly your travelled bard is fortune's favorite — 
He sees the world, and makes the public pay for it. 



The Public — huge, half-reasoning, like an elephant, 

Of its own good is half the time irrelevant ; 

It takes on trust a book that Griswold(^) edits, 

And quarterly re\aews like gospel credits ; 

It hath an ostrich maw, and can digest 

Sticks, stocks, and stones, and all with equal zest 

.6j 






3,tt',€V9- 



Duganne. 



PiENASSUS IN PILLOKY. 



/a^g. 



It seeks like mad the " trial" of some bishop ; 
For Harper's pictm-ed "Bible," throngs it Ms shop; 
Swallows "John Donkey's" sad attempts at humor, 
And thinks Frost's books as wise as those of ISTuma. 

But revenons a nos moutons — that's sheep — 
Return we to our — bards — who've crossed the deep : 
Our travel-poets — whom we well may call so, 
For he who reads their travels, travails also ; 
Our cognoscenti, whom we all should follow, 
As cousius-german to the real Apollo ; 
"WTiose muse, in corkscrew curls and boddice waist, 
. Waltzes or polks, by finger-tips embraced ; 
While, with her nose retroussee and most haughty. 
She lisps — "Ifow, Mister Writei-, don't be naughty!" 

What time ISTat. Willis, in the daily papers, 
Published receipts of shoemakers and drapers ;(^) 
What time, in sooth, his "Mirror" flashed its rays, 
Like Barnum's "Drummond" on the Broadway gaze; 
When lisping misses, fresh from seminaries. 
Worshipped "mi-boy" and " brigadier"(^) as lares; 
When youngsters mad — {scrihendi cacoetlies) 
Found that Castalia's stream was di'ugged like Lethe's : 
Then Bayard Taylor(") — (proteg^ of Xatty) 
Dixou-like, "walked" into the "literati;" 
And first to pi'oper use his genius put, 
Like ballet-girls, by showing "Views a-Foot." 

i66 






Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 



i 



Taylor's a pnsliing and iudustrious youth, 

And so deserves — that I should tell the truth ; 

I wish him well, and own that I'm not sorry at 

His premium hit, as Barnum'a poet-laureate ;(') 

(I wish all hards might win reward so aureate) — 

If the high station suits his muse, wliy let it — 

And for the prize — I'm glad that he did get it ! 

Taylor's a j^outh of promise and good sense, 

But for his genius — "it's no consequence !" 

He'll do to oscillate (when the air quite still is,) 

'Twixt Horace-Grreeley and Mcecenas-Willis. 

His "knapsack" 3'arn, however, is worth unravelling, 

By all who'd learn tlie cheapest modes of travelling : 

'Tis snug, as down the glorious Rhine one floats, 

To know one's passage only costs ten groats ; 

'Tis nice, while viewing St. Peter's, to be told I 

Can get good buttered buns for just two soldi ; 

So Taylor's muse presents a physiognomy 

Invaluable — to lovers of economy. 

Here's TuckermanC) — cahn, sentimental, placid — 
A Roman punch without the strength or acid. 
While Taylor cheapens fares and prices lava, 
TucKERMAN at "La Scala" murmurs "brava!" 
A delicate muse is his — genteel, exclusive — 
Marvelling, no doubt, why critics are abusive ; 
'Tis vulgar (as Lord Chesterfield admonished) 
To let folks see us startled or astonished ; 
.67 





Duganne. 

PARNASSUS IN FILLORT. 

^ And T., (a well-bred, gentlemanly poet,) 
If he has feeling, never lets us know it. 
He sees Niagara, and says — "I declare !" 
Applauds a thunder-storm, with — "Pretty fair!" 
Eeads Milton listlessly, with half-closed hds, 
(And wonders if the devil wore white kids :) 
Likes us to know that he has been to Italy — 
Thinks that Vesu'S'ius does eruptions prettily ; 
Whistles "H Figaro" — quotes scraps of Dante — 
A Yankee transcript of the dilettante. 



We have our ballad-poets — (Lord preserve us !) 
Song-mongers, sonneteers, and minstrels "nervous." 
When " woodman" Morris \vished to "spare that tree," 
Surely no seer's prophetic eyes had he ; 
Else had he known that blockheads without number 
Would from his luckless stock the country lumber ; 
Smooth, unctuous ;Morris('°) — bard and brigadier — 
(Alas ! that Morris can't be Moore is clear;) 
A household poet, whose domestic muse 
Is soft as milk, and sage as ^Mother Goose ; 
Whose lyrics (sought for with a kind of rabies,) 
Like " Sherman's Drops," are cried for by the babies. 
Ah ! luckless bard ! why did his hydra-blood 
Eaise from our soil so fierce a ballad-brood ? 
Why are the hapless men of music-stores(") 
Dogged by a race of Yankee troubadours ? 

i68 






Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 



"WTiy is the yardstick slighted for the lyre — 

The pestle melted by poetic fire ? 

Our watchmeu's sleep disturbed by vocal woes, 

6rM!;tar'd, catorrh'd, by red-haired Romeos ? 

"Wliy, but because each whining snob has learned 

How feet are measured and how tunes are turned ; 

Cipher with tropes his master's ledger spoils — 

Snip puts to press his sonnets as he moils ; 

Crispin with thread poetic waxeth strong, 

And Chip, who chiseled wood, now chisels song ; 

And all because — (forgive, dread Apollo !) 

Where Morris leads, Tom, Dick, and Hal must follow ; 

Aping his strain, ^^^th throats all cracked and wheezy, 

"If Morris sings," cry they — " sure, singing's easy !" 

'Tis said that to another pen belongs 
The authorship of Morris's best songs ; 
But sure am I, no charity's in this — 
For, if he's not the author, some one is ; 
Matters it little who incurs the name — 
Poor human nature suffers still the same ! 
Some one first led (to set our rhymesters crazy) 
This dance — (or morris-dance, or not, is hazy;) 
Some one cried "Besom!" and, behold! the word 
A thousand watery fiends from slumber stirred ; 
Till now, alas ! (as in the German fable,) 
To stop the flood no human power is able. 
169 







^^^ Duganne. ^^^<i><t^ 



PARNASSUS IS PILI.ORY. 



i"^ 



We have our Dramatists — but oh ! — since " Brutus,"('-) 
Though hard the wretched tribe have striven to suit us — 
Though " Spartacus" shaU split the groundlings' ears ; 
Though "Metamora" scowl at crowded tiers; 
And Kentish Aylmere win the plaudit long — 
There's naught to brag of in our tragic song. 
Though BoKER bores with well-intentioned plays, 
And Mathews tries to please five hundi-ed ways ; 
Though Sargent, Willis, and the martial E,eid, 
(And Lord knows how many of lesser breed,) 
Have socked and buskined through the five-act folly, 
Their jokes are wept — and jeered their melancholy. 

I trust in Uncle Sam — believe in dollars — 
Believe in mad dogs and phonetic scholars : 
Believe in Sheba — she of David's bath, whose 
Lord was slain — believe in Corny Mathews,(") 
And more than this, believe that he called " Puflier,'.' 
Than those who laugh at him is ten times tougher. 
Though Murdoch, rash, but doubtless patriotic, 
Damn'd native plays in preference to exotic : 
Though "Witchcraft" saved not hapless Puffer's name, 
And " Jacob" built no ladder for his fame ; 
Though adverse fates foredoom his best intents, 
And even his hits are chalked as accidents, — 
Yet I'll maintain, with all my heart and will, ^ 

That Mathews means well to his country still ; 
170 




Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUS IS PILLOKY. 




Mayhap booksellers are his worst revilers, 

Mayhap he's barked at by those curs, " compilers ;" 

Mayhap the hate of critic hacks he bears, 

Because his egotism beats even theirs ; 

Yet for their hate, I hate thee not, Cornelius, — 

(Faith, for these things I like thee — tanto melius) — 

I like thee, spite of all thy damned plays. 

Thy " weak inventions" — (as King Richard says) — 

For truly many a dog who'd bite thy heel. 

Has had good cause its honest weight to feel ; 

I like thee for that thou hast richly flayed. 

With good goose-quill, the thin-skins of "the trade;" 

And dared amid the yelping pack to stand 

For "Author's Rights!" — so, "Putter ["here's my hand! 

Whilome where Schuylkill runs and Delawai'e, 
(And Franklin's statue points to State-House square,) 
A bard did write and publish, (hapless doom !) 
And chose "Poor Scholar" for his nomme de illume. 
He wrote a play — albeit for cash or barterC*) — 
And christened it (prophetic name !) "Love's Martyr." 
'Twas played — half-damu'd — and then, in despei'ation, 
The author sealed its doom — by publication ; 
A thing unwise — all men of sense must say so : 
Tve had a dozen damn'd — and let them stay so. 

A Alas! "Love's Martyr!" — long ago departed ! 

$]'h Ne'er lived a healthy man so " broken-hearted:" Pl'^j 

p3« ,7, ^ 




Duganne. _^>-55vY 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. (1 KJ, 

A six-foot "blighted being," long be wore 
His braided frock-coat buttoned down before. 
"One morn they missed him" on the Chestnut pave — 
The next his trusting barber 'gan to rave ; 
The next — but let our Mexic annals tell 
How fiercely fought the bard, how long and well ; 
Till home returned, with modest voice he claimed 
To be — of all the brave — the bravest named : 
Which being denied, for London straight he started, 
Where "Punch" perhaps may print his " Broken- 
Hearted." ('=) 

Who's next upon the mimic scene ? Ah, truly, 
'Twere well, mj muse, you come to English duly. 
Griswold, whose voice in poetry's oracular, 
Wliose a^vful fiat stamps each bard's vernacular, — 
Griswold opines that Tom, ycleped " The Rhymer," 
On steep Parnassus yet may be a climber ; 
And proves, by one most nautical "Ben Bolt," 
That "Donkej' John" 's of Pegasus a colt-C") 
I'll not denj' — for they may read who run — 
That by Dunn English is the English done ; 
His "Bolt" maj' bar Griswoldian criticism, 
But I must scan him through a satire's prism ; 
So without gloves, this surly Tom I'll handle, 
And hope, at least, " the sport is worth the candle." 



i 



Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 

Our " Rhj-mer's" critic-lash, in sooth they tell us, 
Cuts hke a kiiout — (i' faith my muse grows jealous ;) 
Surnamed "The Bitter" he — his threatening growl 
Greeting young Orpheus like a Cerberus-howl — 
(Young Orpheus fresh from college or the counter. 
With harp in hand to catch a muse and mount her :) 
A critic he, whose " cut-aud-slash" is mighty; 
A bard, whose flights it must be owned are flighty ; 
A di-amatist, whose tragic muse has flitted 
Proud o'er the pit — but only to be pitied ! 

I pr'ythee, Tom, what mill supplies thy paper? 
What gas-house furnishes thy " midnight taper ?" 
Hast thou Briareus' anns, or, with autennfe, 
Dost grasp a thousand pens, to turn a penny ! 
I heard a speech to-day — 'twas English wrote it, 
The journal's leader — they from English quote it; 
I bought a book — Dunn English on the cover ; 
I sung a song — lo ! English as a lover ! 
Lawyer, and doctor, farmer, bard, and playwright, 
0, motley Tom ! in one thing, pr'ythee, stay right ! 
Waste not thyself pursuing shadowy vapors ; 
Cut not thy real work — but ciit thy capers ! 
Shape for thy Future's years some work whose might 
Shall mock the tasks which now thy powers invite ; 
Strike the brave hai-p for man — or break its strings ; 
For Heaven hears only when a full heart sings. 

•7} 





V^ Duganne. 



T 



PAUXASSUS IN PILLORY. 



Here's Byroii-BoKEB, with a "s^A'■eet mustache :"('') 

Be careful, peu ! attempt uo combat rash ! 

Else, with a rage that shall o'erwhelm e'en yours, 

BoKER may, Byron-like, review reviewers. 

Yet, iu good sooth, perhaps for Borer's sake, 

'Twere well to rouse the lion with a shake ; 

B}Ton, wlieu flogged, eschewed his schoolboy trash ; 

Who knows but Boker — faith ! I'll try the lash. 

Now, 'pon my sacred word — 'tis with a sigh 
I lift the flagellating rods on high ; 
Like the stern Trappist strike I — though afresh 
At everj' blow, bleed my own tender flesh ; 
Chastening whom much we love, we can't be mild, 
Lest, whilst we " spare the rod," we " spoil the child." 
Boker's a young man still — he wrote Calaynos, 
For a 3' ouug man 'twas not a crime too heinous : 
There's a rich veiu of bloodshed running through it — 
(The pit at '-Sadler's Wells" took kindly to it ;) 
Next he exhumed — I mean, he took from Hume, 
A headless tale of bride and Bluebeard groom ; 
And last, to show the Public hoAv^ he braved it. 
Brought "The Betrothal" out — and barely saved it. 
His verse is well enough — smooth, classic, measured — 
(Addison's style is one that should be treasured ;) 
True, there's no life where art the subject warps, 
But, as the crones say, " 'Tis a handsome corpse !" 
«74 




i 



T- -=^' 



Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 

BoKER of bards is not the first or last : 

He's growing — haply, though he grows too fast; 

If poets seek the mnse's bright empyrean, 

They'll first do well to reach the heart's criterion : 

Lay their foundation on good rocks — not water ; 

Then build like Cheops — if they've bricks and mortar; 

So BoKER — if he'll mind me to the letter, 

(I can advise, because I wi'ite much better,) 

Will tear to shreds his bookish rules, and write. 

As Corny Mathews does — with all his might ; 

Then, if he charm not all the public noddles. 

We'll know it is his own fault, not his model's. 

Boker's in Philadelphia — Mathew Carey 

Sold books in that "Emporium Literary;" 

Big newspapers and Ladies' Magazines 

Are published there ; the markets furnish greens 

Much earlier than those of northern cities ; 

There flourish puft's poetic, and love ditties. 

Yet true it is, and that 'tis true 'tis pity, 

The pen is penury in Penn's great city ; 

Songs make a man sans all things — nay, what worse is, 

Verse, in an adverse ratio, brings reverses. 

Would the poor avithor live by books, perchance he 

Will find that Grub-street is no thing of fancy ; 

Does he serve Graham? " Graham bread" he shares; 

Toils he for Godey ? many a goad he bears ; 



-=&i 



m^ 



1 




D^g^"^^- ..sJl^J 



PARNASSUS 




Would he the editorial tripod court ? 

Newspaper columns will no roof support. 

Ah ! luckless scribbler ! wouldst escape a hovel, 

Eschew thy muse, and write a " blood-red novel ; 

Let plot be absent, and let sense run mad — 

Let grammar be most villainously bad — 

Let Satan's self dictate the moral in't, — 

It matters not — some publisher will print. 

Stoop from the sunlight, and essay the sty : 

Huckster thy genius, and the herd will buy. 

Each peddling bookster then will call thee "IN'epos," 

And chant thy name in — " Literary Depots." 

Amid the Babel tongues of Philadelphia 

There's one young man who always gains himself ear 

By dint of facial brass and mental lead, 

(Both mixed with real gold, it must be said,) 

He holds his weight among the rhj'ming race, 

'EoY yields to many a classic bard his place. 

A sporting Zincalo, with boat and beagle ; 

A rhyming Zincalo, with practice legal, — 

One day, as "Harry Harkaway," he'll shoot you 

As many quails or reedbirds as may suit you ; 

The next, discourse upon the arts or music, 

Until he prattles both himself and you sick ; 

Or till he proves, in every subject pitched on. 

That earth boasts one more " admirable Crichton." 
176 

-' " -^nr 





PABXASSUS IN PILLORY. 

"Eudymion !" may his pipe still keep its tune ! 
Eudymion-HiRST, who sleeps beneath the moou ; 
"With "Blackstone" pillowing his majestic headjC) 
That head which, all unlike his works, is red ! 



Time was when, dormant in the stripling's breast, 
Trochee was silent — mute was anapaest ; 
Time was, ere luckless Helicon he drank. 
When all his verses, like his briefs, were blank ; 
His thoughts unnumbered, noteless still his time, 
And dull-set as his voice his dulcet rhyme ; 
But chance, or circumstance, or whimsic fate, 
By curious accidents makes mortals great; 
And thus it chanced, or came to pass, in sooth, 
That Sully painted " Shakspeare in his Youth ;" 
With "hyacinth hair" and beard of amber hue, 
Expansive brow, and eyes half-brown, half-blue. 
Hirst was an ainateur in painting then, 
And Sully's picture met his critic ken ; 
The young man murmurs, stai-ts, and rubs his eyes : 
Egad ! the portrait takes him by surprise ; 
The brow he marks — the amber beard he sees : 
"Shakspeare and wie"(") (he cries) "are like as peas !" 
In truth, " 'twas passing sti'ange," the stripling thought, 
Such " counterfeit presentment" here was wi'ought : 
Endymion's embryo — Avon's mighty bard — 
Which sat to Sully, faith, to tell was hard. 






Duganne. 



PARNA3SU3 IN PILLORY. 

nant, no doubt, of some tremendous fame, 
hair was red — and t' other's much the same 
That lofty brow — that nose — "By all the Nine !" 
Cries Hirst, " His locks are hyacinth — so are mine ! 
If thus kind Nature marks her duplicate, 
Egad ! I'll take to poems, and be great : 
I'll write till none shall know which bard is Avhich, 
Shakspeare may die — but there's a vacant niche ; 

And " Lo ! Parnassus heard the dread resolve : 

Hirst lives ! — the Future will his fame evolve ! 

This satirizing's tedious — though I force not 
The reader to endure it — Oh ! of course not ! 
I'm satisfied they'll read it whom I quiz, 
And those not named will read to see who is : 
Be glad, then, friends, whose genius is not known — 
Be glad my work's not still-born like your own ; 
Since through my potent pen you'll gain, in verity, 
Mention at least in most remote posterity. 

Posterity ! the race of fools and dummies. 

Who'll crowd the Future with the Present's mummies ; 

Who'll read my books, and hundreds worse than mine, 

And swear each mouldering author was divine ; 

While in their very midst — unknown or spurned — 

Dwell mightier minds than all the Past inurned. 

Posterity — I count your praise and blame, 

all the good they'll do me, much the same. 
178 






Poetical Works. <^^ 



PAUSASSUS IN PILLORY. 



You'll give ten dollars for my autograph ; .. / 

(Which now in Wall street will not bring the half;) 
Yet even this tribute should not make me vain — 
Great Barnum's signature may twenty gain ! 
Oh, golden goal ! Oh, prize to fire the soul — 
Posterity may all the Smiths enrol ! (*') 

Now will plump Platitude, with pitying smile, 

Point me to history's teeming minster-aisle — 

Show me the tombs and effigies of men 

Who wrought their memories with the glorious pen : 

With magpie glibuess prate each deathless name, 

And cry — " Behold ! Posterity and Fame !" 

Oh ! bitter jest, that marks with marble lie 

The lowly earth where genius sank to die ; 

Oh ! mocking sj'mpathy, which shrines the dead. 

Yet spurns the living with unheeding tread. 



Great Heaven ! could Intellect its wrongs disclose. 
Vain, vain the gauge that measures mortal woes ! 
All sighs, all tears, were powerless to declare 
The almighty griefs which one poor soul may bear. 
Behold ! the Athenian sage his hemlock drains. 
And, mark ! the Roman opes his withered veins ; 
Lo ! from the Pisan's breast how torture chokes 
The lie, which straight his stouter soul revokes ! 
Look, where Geneva mocks a martyr's ci-ies, (^') 
Or Smithfield's flames in lurid horror rise ! 
'79 





Duganne 

^^ PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 

Behold ! — ^yet vainly, by tlie gleaming axe, 

By galling chains, by dungeons, fagots, racks, — 

Vainly ye strive to measure or reveal 

A passing shade of what the soul can feel. 

'Tis not the drug that tortures Socrates — 

His faith o'erthrown, his teachings lost, he sees ! 

"Weak are the chains on Galileo's frame, 

To those which sink his honest soul in shame ! 

Monarchs may lose their thrones, yet life retain : 

G-enius dethroned ne'er lifts her brow again. 

Mind ! immortal in thy suffering ! — Heart ! 
"Which of all agony true kindred ai't ! 
How would my feeble pen di-op bloody tears, 
Could it but chronicle the Soul's sad years ! 
Could it but marshal from their nameless graves, 
The helot-host of intellectual slaves ; 
The unnumbered martyrs to the Titan's fate, 
"Which dooms to suffering him who would create. 
Through the woi'ld's desert backward as we turn. 
How much of power — of impotence — we learn ! 
What glonous love is mingled with what lust — 
"Wliat awful monuments we meet — ^what dust ! 
Souls that held heaven within their cherub clasp, 
Dragged downwards by an earthly demon's grasp ; 
And seraph minds, that read the Eternal's throne, 
J^ Like shivered stars o'er brooding chaos strown 






Poetical Works. 



PARNA93U9 IN PILLOHY. 



But hold ! I'm far too serious, and must bring 

My Phoebus-team demurely to the ring : 

The ring where each one treads the other's track, 

And Truth, poor Clown, is jeered by all the pack; 

Satire, plain satire, is my avocation : 

Points are my periods — puns my peroration. 



The British critics — be it to their glory — 
When they abuse us, do it con amove : 
There's no half-way about your bull-dog pure, 
And there's no nonsense with your " Scotch reviewer." 
Heaven knows how often we've been whipped like curs. 
By those to whom we've knelt as worshippers ; 
Heaven only knows how oft, like froward chitlings. 
Our authors have been snubbed by British witlings ; 
Our mountains ranked as molehills — our immense 
And awful forests styled " Virginuy fence;" 
Our virtues all but damned, with faintest praise, 
And our faults blazoned to the widest gaze ! 
I find no fault with them — they praise us rarely ; 
As for abuse — we're open to it fairly ; 
But faith, it galls me, and I'll not deny it, 
To mark our own most deferential quiet : 
To note the whining, deprecative air 
With which we beg for praise or censure bear ; 
Shrink back in terror if our gifts they spurn, 
if they smite one cheek, the other turn, — 







Duganne. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 



— ^cv3,g\g- 



Begging that they'll excuse a patient dunce, 
"Who, if he could, would offer both at once. 



There's no use in denying it — the Yankee 
(Though, in the way of business, cute and cranky; 
Though true as steel, and quick as any rocket,) 
Is seldom keenly touched, save through his pocket. 
One war more bloody, even, than dishonest. 
We'd scaped, had " Montezuma's Halls" been non est; — 
Our Indian raids had ne'er brought shame or glorj''. 
Had not old Plutus whispered, "territory." 
And many a wrong, I'll wager, would be righted ; 
And many a right would have its wrongs requited ; 
And many a truth from error's cloud would flash, — 
Could we be sure such things would "pay," in "cash." 
But, as regards our books, and those who make them, 
For all our country cares, the de'il may take them ; 
Matters it little to our sapient statesmen. 
What power annihilates, or what creates men ; 
So that with "congress prog" you duly ply 'em — 
" Gin gratis — and eight dollars each per diem." {^) 

Now, by my troth ! — ^if these same legislators 
Were called, point blank, a set of heartless traitors ; 
Willing to sell their country's fame for fat hire, — 
They'd doubtless cry, "You lie!"(^)to this, my satire. 
Yet, if they sleep and snore, whilst, unawares, 
The enemy in our goodly field sows tares; 



-S'^g-e/'a^ 



— <~s&e. 





Poetical Works. 



oy3^^(?;-^ 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 



If watch nor ward they keep upon our borders, — 
Pray, can they well be called efficient warders ? 

How, then, if broadcast, o'er our laud reprinted. 
Books of all climes are strown with hand unstinted; 
Books such as sap our freedom's dearest life, 
Books with the cant of kings and Jesuits rife ; 
Books such as virtuous wives would blush to name, 
Books that destroy a maiden's sense of shame ! 
How, then, if on the plastic mind of youth, 
Falsehood is grafted in the place of truth ; 
False taste infused — false views of right and wrong. 
False love, false law, false sermons, and false song ! 

Far be it from me to say that all these ills 
Flow fi'om the poisoned points of foreign quills; 
Far be it from me to shield, from righteous scorn. 
The race of blackguard authors native-born ; 
Wretches, who, ghoul-like, feed on carrion clay, 
And scent a crime as vultures scent their prey ; 
Whose leprous minds can track a felon's course, 
Or trace a harlot's vices to their source ; — 
Scarce can these men demand my reprobation : 
Thank heaven ! their labors are their own damnation. 

I say, not, then, that foreign pens alone 

Inflict the moral wrongs 'neath which we groan ; 

But, tell me, ye who do our thinking for us. 




Duganne. 



PAEXASSCS IN PILLOKY. 



If ("WTiom ballot-boxes kindly station o'er us ;) 
Tell me if evils, such as represented, 
Might not, by timely laws, have been prevented ; — 
Tell me if Paul de Kock, or Sue, or Sand, 
Would e'er have gained a foothold in our land, — 
If ribald wit, or senseless atheism, 
Could e'er have charmed us with delusive prism ; 
Had our good Yankee "publishers at sight" 
Been forced to buy "the author's copyright !" 



Why has our yellow-covered literature 

Poured o'er the land its influence impure ? 

Why, but because 'twas " cheap" — ^its profits sure ! 

Why was the infamous De Kock translated. 

And cast abroad with rankest poison freighted ? 

Why, but because our booksters "speculated !" 

On what ? On manners, morals, virtue, sense ! 

Souls might be lost — but booksters turned their 




pence 




Oh, Justice ! why are still thine altars rotten ? — 
Could Intellect protected be, like cotton, — 
Could Mind beget per cent., like capita], — 
Then might we be what else we never shall ; 
Then would our heaven-appointed "men of letters" 
Be freed from iron Want's degrading fetters ; 
Then might the thoughts of noble souls illume 
poor man's hut, the rich man's drawing-room ; 
184 




Poetical Works. 

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PABNiSSUS IN PILLORY. 

While, from the light its filth could ne'er endure, 
"Would shrink our " yellow-covei^d literature !" 
But, ah ! while Bulwer, Dickens, James, or Jerrold, 
Costs scarcely more than Bennett's "double Herald;" 
How can we hope our country's mind to nourish, 
Or look for Yankee literature to flourish? 

Oh, "Yankee literature!" Oh, tripe ! Oh, treacle! 
What can I say our publishers to tickle ? 
How shall I make my humblest, prettiest bow, 
To deprecate their rage, and 'scape a row ? 
0, Harper! maj'or! temperance-man! church-member! 
Our household-prop! our hearth-stone's brightest ember ! 
Wliat could we do without thy mammoth presses ? — 
Thy Grub — no ! Cliff-street's hasty-pudding messes ! 

'Tis not his fault — (I clear friend Harper of it,) 

That foreign books are cheap, and pay a profit; 

He did not hire Dumas, or Paul de Kock, 

To jest at truth — at decency to mock ; 

A publisher who'd mend his country's morals, 

With his own bread and butter madly quarrels. 

He's not to know what books work ill or well — 

The question he must ask, is — "will they sell?" 

And if to-day he prints a moral libel, 

To-morrow squares the account — he prints a bible ! 







m^.^^ . Duganne. ,^^m^ 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 



And here, Virtue ! which art daily shamed — 
Honesty ! which sCareely now art named, 
Truth ! which art the veil of direst wrong, — 
Give me to plead your cause in this my song ! 
Shall Foster prostitute a graceful pen, 
To " slice up" outcast hags, and outlawed men ? 
Shall "Buntline" rave, and Wilkes his "pigeons" lure, 
And Ann-street's presses swell the common-sewer ? 
Shall ribald sheets their pandering pimps engage, 
While Mose and Jakey prop a crumbling stage ; 
Shall "these things be," and yet nor voice nor pen, 
Scourge as with snakes the morals and the men ? 
No ! though I loathe the quarry — let me speed 
One shaft, at least, against the scorpion breed ! 

Upas ! thy deadly venom hath but the art 
To chill the warmth of some poor human heart ! 
Plague ! thou canst blister flesh and torture limb, 
'Till the pulse slackens and the eye grows dim ; 
Simoom ! thy blast, svsdft-scouring o'er the plain, 
May fire the blood and scorch the withering brain ! 
But ye are bounded in your fearful power — 
Your field the limits of life's little hour ; 
Trembles your empire on each fleeting breath : 
Your pangs, your perils, have their term in death ! 



vi^ Not so the Upas of a venal Pbess ! 

ilk 

^i® The Plague — the Simoom — of licentiousness ; 





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PAEXASSUS IS PILLORY. ^|_j 

^^ Weak is the death to mortal sense confined — ^^ 

(\ That only kills which kills the immortal mind ! M 

Poison and Pest can but the clay control — 
An impure Press hath i^ower to slay the soul ! 

matron ! kneeling by thy slumbering child, 
Dare not to hope his mind is undefiled ! 
List! in his restless dreams his thoughts betray 
What books he reads, by stealth, from day to day ; 
Hush ! is it " Crusoe" from his lips that falls ? 
No! "Ellen Jewett"(^^) his sleeping sense recalls. 
O, maiden! speak! why now that volume crush 
Beneath thy pillow ? — why that conscious blush ? 
Fearest thou the book may shame a mother's eye ? 
God help thee, maiden ! there is danger nigh ! 

And ye who pander — ye, whose reeking souls 

No love refines — no law nor shame controls ; 

Ye on whose tongues the words of virtue dwell, 

While in your hearts distil the dews of hell ! 

Ye moral scavengers — who drag each sink 

For food — whose hearts are blacker than your ink ; — 

Tremble ! the crimes which ye to strength have nursed, 

Shall, through your children, make you doubly cursed ! 

Avaunt the theme ! Pegasus the skittish ! 
Return we to our critic friends — the British ; 
The British, whom our universal nation 
Whips each July-the-Fourth, in loud oration 

.87 
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Duganne. -=cS^ 

PARNASSUS IN PILLOET. (1 fii 

The Britisli, whose worm-eaten statutes rule us, 
Whose precedents decide — whose models school us ; 
"Whose nod we bow to — whose award we iight for ; 
Whose stamp our actors seek — our authors write for. 
True, we have beaten Bull in many a battle — 
But then Bull beats us in his Durham cattle ; 
True, we have plucked from him old Neptune's trident, 
But then his "Punch" can give our ribs a sly dint; 
So, though we could with greatest ease outstrip her. 
His lugger makes a tender of our clipper ! 

I'm far from wishing, fellow-bards ! to plague you. 
But, faith ! 'tis fun to note your Anglo-ague ; 
To see you march, manoeuvre, crawl, or leap, — 
Dance or lie down, sing, curse, pray, laugh, or weep ; 
Just as the wires, which rule your changes antic, 
Ai-e pulled by merry-audrews transatlantic. 
I must not laugh — no ! I'll espouse your quarrel ! 
(Heaven knows ye can't afford to lose one laurel !) 
They say, (a wicked libel this of course is,) 
They say ye steal, bards ! from British sources. 



'Tis monstrous ! what ! shall British critics prate 
Of plagiaries — and say we imitate ? 
Who dares assert that Keats was read by Hirst, 
Or "Tibia" by his Mother well was nursed? 
Who so fool-hardy as to hint that Moore 
Wrote Hoffman's(") melodies ten years before ? 



J^^ -^r 



YvqT.^ Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUS IN PILI.OKT. 



Who says that Sargent^") strips Corneille's poor "Cid?" 
That Benjamin(-') in Canioens once was hid ? 
That Emerson,(-'*) like Coleridge, reads the Germans, 
And Dawes's(*-') poems sound like Taylor's sermons ? 
Who says Lunt's(^) lead with Byron's gold was sol- 
dered ? — 
That Wordsworth dribbles through meandering Stod- 
dard ?f' ) 
Or who affirms that Harvard grants its benison(*^) 
To those alone who canonize Saint Tennyson ? 

I've mentioned Read : — his song is very sweet — 
Poetic milk for those who baulk at meat. 
I've heard his puns full oft use common sense ill, 
And had my likeness taken by his pencil ; 
Soft "T.B. R."— the "Tibia" of our wits— f ) 
Whose delicate muse on ftiiry footsteps flits ; 
The "Doric" Read, who in his paint-shop woos, 
With dainty food, his sentimental muse ; 
Tempts her with titbits from a thousand "marts,"(**) 
The tongues of nightingales and cuckoos' hearts ; 
Trembles, and faints, and dies, in every line, 
And draws the web of fancy — superfine ; 
Paints a new blush upon the damask rose. 
And o'er its leaves some rare patchouly throws ; 
Tears ofl'the G string from his pretty harp, 
And strikes the flat notes rather than the sharp : 
189 




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<fp PARSASSrS IX PILLORY. 

Fearful of falls, his wings he would control, 
And doffs the Spartan for the Sybarite soul.(^ 

God made the Poet for his instrument : 
His harp, his heart, are never given — but lent ; 
And all that heaven requires, for rental-fee, 
Is to give harp and heart their natural key. 
Tibia ! thy song is like thy body — little : 
Thy fame, I fear me, like thy genius — ^brittle : 
"Wouldst thou be honored ? drop thy quibbling quill, 
Eschew thy love, dove, dart, and daffodil ; 
Fling 'mid the stars thy songs, if bard thou art, 
Or sink them in the wondrous human heart : 
Then mayst thou soar among the immortal few — 
In spite of satires — or the ""Whig Eeview."(^ 

Speaking of stars, attend, muse most pliant ! 
To our acknowledged loadstar — Mister Bryant ! 
Whose light I've viewed with reverential deference. 
As far as earliest school-boy dates have reference ; 
Whose flights I've marked as most etherial things, 
Sure that he used no Cretan's waxen wings ; 
Whose shrine I've knelt at, in true orthodoxy. 
Certain the bard was Dan Apollo's proxy. 
My fingers tremble, and my pulse grows faint ; 
Awfal the task a noonday sun to paint ! 
Fain would I praise this laureate of our nation, 
Were not all praise but supererogation ; 




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c5V3= — ==^1 

iLli PARKASSt'S IN FILI.ORT. ([ 

He is so fixed a fact — so constellated, 

Like bankrupts' debts, he can't be overrated : 

His name's a sad sponsorial misnomer — 

Had nature spoken, he'd been christened — Homer. 

What time our presidential politics 
Count game much less by honors than by tricks ; 
When Rynders wnelds, like Hercules, his "club,"(^) 
And social Greeley peeps from cynic tub, — 
Then Bryant — poet-laureate — nature's boast — 
Treads the old party-lines, from Post to Post ; (^) 
New-nibs his pen to brand new truth as schism, 
And damns all isms, but safe conservatism. 

Now, by my modesty ! I like friend Bryant : 
But as a vian I like him — not a giant ! 
I like his landscapes — mountains, woods, and copses, 
And freely own, he's "death on" Thanatopsis; 
But, with due deference, I can see no justice 
In making him a classical Procrustes ;('^) 
And lopping hapless bards of heel and head. 
To fit them for his gas-inflated bed. 
I thank him kindly for his blankest verse ; 
(I've seen much better — but I've seen still worse ;) 
I bless him for his homoeopathic stanzas — 
His apophthegma, clear as Sancho Panza's ; 
I'll own, in fact, he's Brobdignagian — ^but. 
Just so was Gulliver — in Lilliput ! 
191 





Duganne. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 



_,UL9ilCg/ 




Yet will I gi-ant that he a new Autseus is — {^'') 
But, "gracious! Max!" — no apotheosis ! 

In the old time — the time that never tarries — 
We owned a bard who sang of Mark Bozzaris : 
Bozzaris is no more — and dead is Astor — 
I wish the last had ne'er been Halleck's master. (*') 
Trade, like Medusa, turns the heart to stone. 
And jarring sounds destroy the harp's sweet tone. 
Figures our bard still hath, but tropes I doubt. 
Invoices plenty, but no voice comes out. 
Bozzaris died by steel, but gold could slay 
The man through whom. Bozzaris lives for aye ; 
Astor was mightier than the dreaming " Turk" — 
Requiescat in pace — ^Astor's clerk ! 

Where is Park Benjamin ? In sooth, 'tis wondrous I 
He sings not — ^yet the stones are silent under us ! 
Where is that bard whose madrigals, in Gotham, 
Took root so deep that still the newsboys know them ? 
Where are his sonnets, and his songs rhapsodical, 
That whilome graced each infant periodical ? 
Once (when a hero none presumed to doubt him) 
He failed with journals — now they fail without him ; 
Once (as a sort of editorial Warwick) 
He built up paper thrones — " alas ! poor Yorick !" 
Where is he now ? I'll give — my word upon it — 
This book (when finished) for his "last, best sonnet." 
191 

— 




Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUa IS PILLORY. 

Room for our "Lakers !" — ! sweet Windermere ! 

Surely the winds do waft thine essence here. 

List the Home Journal — Fashion's weekly creditor ! 

We must make room for Stoddard ! cries its editor. 

Stoddard ! we will : if Nat be thine example, 

Thou'lt need, in truth, an area most ample : 

Room where the banyan-growth of self-conceit 

May twine its downward branches round thy feet : 

Room where the ghosts of time and talent slain. 

Like afreets damu'd,(^) shall haunt thy desert brain. 

If Nat's high patronage thy muse would try, 

Room thou wilt have — like Uncle Toby's fly ; 

But if (in bold reliance on thyself) 

Thou layest thy maudlin seniors on the shelf. 

If, with the Orphean lute thou fingerest well, 

Thou'lt dare the flames of even a critic's hell, — (^) 

Reckless of Duyckinck(*') — braving Griswold's doom — 

Then may the world award thy genius "room !" 

What time some British critic lost his dinner, 

Charles Fenno Hoffman was reviewed, (poor sinner !) 

To whom he may this peril of his neck owe 

I know not — only that they called him "Echo;"(^) 

And he (to prove such cruel critics wrong) 

Published anew a budget of his song. 

Ab, luckless man ! Had he but burnt — not printed, 

He might those wags have nicely circumvented. 






Msr 




i^ Duganne 



PAENASSCS IN PILLORY. 



Alas, poor Hoffman ! Griswold thiuks Ms lyrics 
Equal to "Waller's " richest" songs, or Herrick's !(^) 
If this be true, Rufe ! which thou assurest, 
I hope I'll see of neither bard his poorest. 
Ah, Doctor Griswold ! I've a shrewd suspicion, 
That Hoffman owes to friendship his position : 
That some past service may have earned for wages 
Your bed-procrustean of some fourteen images ; 
In short, that some old friendly claim may owe its 
Cancelment to the influence of your " Poets ;" 
And so our Hoffman, thro' his friendly "Doctor," 
Stands among freshman bards a sort of " proctor. "(^^ 

" Sparkling and bright" is Hoffman's soul, they say, 
Where kindly fancies rule with geutle sway ; 
But that he be, as Griswold's book declares, 
A bard with whom no Yankee bard compares : 
That, in his puling love-songs, he can thrill 
One heart where English sways a score at will ; 
That all the sparkling fire-flies of his lyre 
Can glow like Taylor's "Bison-track" of fire; 
That even with Morris (could I say much worse ?) 
His muse can measure, in domestic verse, — 
If in denying these things I'm outvoted, 
I leave the matter to — the authors quoted. 

" Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb" 
The " Giant's Causeway" of Gothamic rhyme ? 
194 




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Poetical Works. 



5W 



i 



PABNASSOS IN PILLORT. 



Ouce Percival,(*-) in classic numbers, swept 
The harp which since so shiggishly has slept: 
His " Genius waking" first our bosoms stirred, 
To mock each after year with " hope deferred ;" 
And now, "forgetful of his ouce bright fame," 
He grasps, content, the shadow of a name ! 
Who shall his mute and stringless harp attune ? 
Not even thrice-classic Fosdick — or Bethune !(^') 

When Parson Pierpont, in Bostonian pulpit, 
Fought like a matador in Spanish bull-pit ; 
And heedless all of fire-bolts round his steeplc,(^'') 
Bolted cold water at his graceless people, — 
Then, rivalling Pierpont, broken hearts to solace. 
The charms of "Adam's Ale" were sung by Wallace :(' 
Sung with most fearful lungs and nerves unshaken. 
Till Priessnitz soon for Orpheus was mistaken ; 
Till cisterns seemed the Muses' penetralia. 
And aqueducts the only true Castalia. 

O Wallace ! "man of 'Ross !' " not now, as then. 
Thy tyro-fingers grasp a feeble pen : 
Not now, with lisping love-lays on thy tongue, 
Needst thou repeat M^hat haply scores have sung ; 
Nor studied phrase nor measured strain should bind 
The upward soaring of thy natural mind ; 
No senseless arrogance nor weak distrust 
Should cramp thy powers with egoistic rust. 

'95 

:§= 




./51\ 





Qsisu. Duganne. ^^^s^^^J 



PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 




Wouldst grasp success ? then deem it shame to doubt ! 

Gemus hast thou? — like murder, it "will out." 

If heavenly Phojbus j'ields to thee his team, 

Or if thj' muse, like Cutter's, goes by "steam ;"('-) 

If, fierce as Neal'SjC) thy red-hot language glows, 

Or softl}' drips, like milk-and-water Coo's ;(°^) 

If Griswold shrine thee, or if Graham scorn,('^) 

Be siire that Jove o'ersees the poet-born ! 

Assert thy claims, though all the critics carp. 

Take "heart of grace," and strike the sounding harp: 

If the world laughs, why let the world go hang, — 

It laughed and sneered, when glorious Dante sang! 

I almost passed by AVillis — " ah, miboi/ ! 

"Foine morning ! da-da !" Faith ! I wish him joy ! 

lie's half a ccntur}' old — in good condition ; 

And, positively, he has gained — "position." 

'Gad! what a polish " upper-ten-dom" gives 

This executioner of adjectives; 

This man who chokes the English, woi^se than Thug- 

gists,(«') 
And turns "the trade" to trunk-makers or druggists ; 
Labors ou tragic plays, that draw no tiers — 
Writes under bridges, and tells tales of peers ;('^) 
His subjects whey — his language sugar'd curds : 
Gods ! what a dose I — had he to " eat his words." 
His "Sacred Poems," (like a rogue's confessions,) 
Gain him indulgence for his woi-st ti'ausgressions : 




Poetical Works. 

His "fugitive" attempts will doubtless live- 

Oh ! that more works of liis were — fugitive ! 

Fate to his fame a ticklish place has given, 

Like Mah'met's coffin,(^'') 'twixt the earth and heaven : 

But be it as it will — let come what may — 

Nat is a star : his Avorks — the milky way ! 

"Why so severe on Willis?" Julia cries, 
(Who reads De Trohriand in an English guise ;) (°') 
Wliy so severe ? Because my muse must make 
Example stern, for injured Poesy's sake. 
Not that Nat Willis curls his yellow hair — 
Not that his sense can breathe but perfumed air — 
Not that he plaj's the ape or ass, I mourn, — 
For ape and ass are worth not e'en my scorn ; — 
But that, with mind, and soul, and (haply) heart, 
He yet hath stooped to act the fopling's part ; 
Trifled with all he might have been, to choose 
The post of — cicisbeo to the muse ! 
Flung off the chaplet which his boyhood won, 
To wear the fool's cap of a " man of ton !" 
Not Willis only lash I for the crime — 
Through him I strike the bastard tribe of rhyme ; 
The race o'er whom, in his own native power, 
Jove-like 'mid satyrs, might this Willis tower ! 
0, Art! whose angel presence we have felt; 
Whose genial smiles our raptured senses melt: 
'97 





f 



Duganne. 

PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 

All ! when tliy glorious heart is big with love, 
Why do thy chosen children recreant prove ? — 
Fly from the arms which might sustain their souls, 
And plunge from heaven, to grub the earth like moles ? 
O awful ISTaturb ! thou, whose generous blood. 
Like the strange pelican's, revives her brood ! 
"Whose life through death still fructifies again, 
Moulding from dragons' teeth its armed men I^") 
How is thy truth profaned and brought to shame. 
When gewgaw fashion props an author's fame ; 
When minciug phrase usurps the place of wit. 
And reason yields to prancing rhyme the bit! 

Pause, honest pen ! thy fervor makes thee stray : 

Pause — ere injustice desecrate thy lay ; 

Though all Pandora's ills be Poesy's lot, 

Hope lingers still — upheld by Freeman Scott !(") 

patriot Scott ! thy eagle flights I sing. 

That top Parnassus, with untiring wing. 

No more shall Hopkinson Columbia hail — 

Freneau and Paine henceforth are voted stale ; 

Even Emmons "pales his ineftectual fires," 

For Freeman Scott hath struck the sounding wires. 

The "Union saved" his monument shall be — 

And all posterity exist — " Scott free !" 



Nature's a jealous mistress, and who wooes 
Her smiles, must grant her passion all its dues ; 





^^^,^^w Poetical Works. 



PABK.ISSUS IN PILLORY. 



'^^ She liates coquettish airs, but 3'ields her zone 

A 



/y( Freely to him who chxsps it to his own. 




Though PikeC^-) shall bawl for her (unequal odds !) 
His most ungodly "Hymns to all the Gods ;" 
Though LuNT, like Jove with Danae of old, 
Woo her with showerings from his "Age of Gold ;" 
Though SiMMS,(^) with Ponce de Leon's madness rife, 
Swear that in "Florida" lies endless life; 
Though light-horse Street,(") with Indian lasso slack, 
Should seek to bind her pillioncd at his back ; 
Though HosmeRjC^'') ambushed in some tangled glen, 
Like awkward Pan, would pipe her to his den ; 
She flies — oi', laughing at the daring elf, 
Bids Echo answer — while she hides herself! 



Yet, haply, Nature gives not all the slip : 
HoYT pilfers kisses from her glowing lip — 
IIoYT, who, with wooings so demure and meek, 
Secures the fame he scarcely seems to seek ; 
With quiet curb constrains his champing thought, 
iN'or gives the bridle even when he ought. 
Fearing, like Raleigh, danger if he climb,(''*) 
He spoils his native tune by serving time ! 
'Tis ^vl•ong, friend IIoyt ! no poet passive lives ! 
Blows he may bear — but blows he likewise gives. 
Yi Thy "Blacksmith" forged true armor for thy breast :("'') 
W0 Rise now, and cast thy trenchant lance in rest ! 





Duganne. 



% 



PAENASSUS IN FILLOET. 

Of stalwart hearts the cause of mau hath need ; 
'Twere shame to follow, Ralph ! if thou canst lead ! 

But, lo ! a hard of supra-mundane light! 

From heaven he hails, and Harris is he hight-^*) 

"Whilome a parson, erst a spirit-seer, 

And now prime-laureate of each upper sphere. 

No vulgar rhyming-lexicon needs he — 

No sjnitax dull, no tedious prosody ; 

He shuts his eyes — he opes his mouth — and, lo ! 

Ten thousand glittering words like water flow : 

With planes and spheres, with mystic "threes" and 

"sevens," 
He chants an "Epic of the Starry Heavens;" — 
Or, rather — Dryden, Byron, Alfieri, 
(From some transparent lunar luminary,) 
With Shakspeare, Dante, Milton, Pope, and Petrarch, 
(Each of some solar world the poet-tetrarch,) 
Descend — and (as the victims of Phala'ris(^') 
Roared thro' a hrazen hull) so sing thro' Harris ; 
Until the shining lines of Heaven's topographyC") 
(Including manners, customs, and geography) 
Are made so plain that we would not a euhit eiT 
In mapping all, from Mercury to Jupiter. 

Ah ! Thomas ! vainly seekest thou to palm 
Thy puerile fancies for some seraph psalm ; 
Th}' wild conceits for inspiration calm ! 






Poetical Works. 



PARNASSUS IN I'lLLORY. 




thine the hand to sweep immortal lyres — 
Not thine the song for Love's eternal choirs : 
The Spirit's heaven is higher than thy dream — 
The Heart's deep plummet sounds a deeper theme. 
Thy bungling worship pleases not the Muse, 
For hyperborean homage she eschews. 
Of human kin, she likes not beings stellar — 
lu sooth she'd rather kiss plain Tam MacKel]ar.(") 

Ho ! Lyon ! cynosure of fortune's cornea, 

And Poet-Laureate of — California ! 

Bard of "Eureka" and of " Lyonsdale"(") — 

Most " learned Theban !" I do bid thee hail ! 

Caleb ! thou, the brightness of whose star, 

Even Bayard Taylor's radiance could not mar ; 

"Whose genius, burning for a deathless fame. 

Linked the Pacific with thine own great name,(") 

Wliat boots it, Caleb ! if thy rivals sore 

Malign thy "bear," by calling it a borc?(") 

'WTiat recks thy muse if jealous witlings say 

She's mongrel-bred — in Persia and Cathay !(") 

They laugh who win, and thou canst sing as well. 

And, faith ! I think thy prancing rhymes will sell 

For just as much (and bring thee thrice the pity) 

As if they'd passed, like Taylor's, through banditti.(") 

Speaking of China, or Cathay the old, 

(WTiere each man duplicates his neighbor's mould,) 

W '°' ^>f 






Duganne. 



PAENASSnS IN PILLORY. 



(^ Brings to my mind (a natural transition !) 
That town of most Confucian erudition, 
That gives "One Hundred Orators" their glorj^, 
And owns that polymathic wonder, Stoiy !(") 
China 's the world — her sous are all celestial : 
Outside barbarians are no more than bestial ; 
So Boston, like the ancient land of hyson, 
Counts all barbarian beyond her horizon ! 
Her Whipples out-Macaulay Mac himself— 
Her Emersons assign Carlyle the shelf; 
Her EvERETTS, her Brownsons, and her Channings, 
Are worth a score of Foxes, Pitts, and Cannings ; 
In short, her Lowells, Longfellows, and Tappans, 
Are good celestials as Chinese or Japans. 

No lead can fathom Boston's mental deep ; 
No alien thought can scale her learning's steep ; 
No fancy strains to that she does not reach. 
And none may learn save haply she shall teach ; 
Of Fame's broad temple Boston keeps the portal, 
And Boston bards alone are dubbed immortal : 
Even though her dingy bookstores, it is said. 
Are one great sepulchre of "sheeted dead." 
Behold ! "Mat. Lee," the pirate, killed a horse : 
The horse came back again — a " spirit-corse ;" 
And so does Dana,(") who, for many a year, 
On Wiley's book-shelves found a quiet bier. 





Poetical Works. 



PARXASSUS IN PILLORY. 



If thus iu Boston muramiecl books are prized, 

Great Jove ! even Sprague(") may yet be galvanized ; 

Who knows what prodigies may yet be noted, 

Where Peter Parley singSjC*") and Fields is quoted ;(^') 

Fields, with his whistle piping forth the throngs 

Of bards who wait his judgment on their songs, 

As hungry travellers wait for dinner-gongs. 

When hawks to melody attune their throats, 

Tremble we may for Philomela's notes; 

So, when "the trade" essay the Poet's powers. 

Well may we fear for this poor trade of ours. 

The hapless muse her hard-won myrtle yields, 

When bookmen brave her in their barren fields ; 

When Grub-street practises the gentle ai't. 

And Ticknor claims Apollo's counter-Tpart. 

Ah, Jimmy Fields ! thy verse I'll not berate,— 

Bostonia's Helicon is — Cochituate !('-) 

Wh}' should we mourn, in these teetotal times, 

That water-level is the gauge of rhymes ? 

Rich are thy covers — ink and paper good : 

So we'll forgive the inside platitude ; 

Thy verses sell — else had they not been pi-inted. 

Thy brass transmutes to gold as good as minted. 

Bookmen in sooth should make the best of bards, 

(As faro-bankers hold the winning cards;) 

Write, Jimmy ! write — for then (I smile to say it) 

The bard will get per cent. — the bookater pay it. 




Duganne. 



PARNASSUS IN PILLOEY. 




Doctor Holmes !(^) funny Doctor Holmes ! 

Out of thy moutli Cochituate fairly foams ! 

Most glittering frotli — until the gas is freed — 

But then, alas ! a "venerable bead." 

Doctor ! I like thee, and admire the zest 

"With which the world believes that thou canst jest; 

Thy puns, like hares, still double as they run, 

And track themselves by scenting their own fun ; 

Till earthed, at last, the jokes o'er which we sorrowed, 

The burrowed I'abbits seem but rarebits borrowed ; 

Yet still, remorseless, you our patience try, 

And sell your ink to prove our incubi.(*^) 

Dear Doctor ! take a fool's advice, and make 

K"o more bad puns for shabby Harvard's sake ; 

And, Doctor — (here a timel}' hint I'll drop) — 

Talk no more science — i. e. "sink the shop !" 

Epsom with Attic salt I hate to find ; 

True wit, 's no drug — so, pr'j^hee, scour thy mind ! 

Leave ganglions to Bell — and pills to Buchan, 

And, as Saxe wrote a satire, try if yo2i can. 

Do this — do something, or I'm much impressed. 

Your "Last Leaf "(^) will be thought by all your best! 

Saxe wrote a satire('^) — so did Master Lowell, 
And so did — others, whom the public know well ; 
And Saxe is droll, (I say it not at random,) 
For Saxe did print — quod erat demonstrandum — 






'ji^ P^^^i^^l '^'''^'i_...^sSi^ 



ASSU3 IN PILLOllY. 



(No droller thing iu all exj)erioiice lyrical !) 
Yea, Saxe did priut his poems as satirical ! 
Funny Man ! wouldst thou to greatness climb ? 
Twist proper names, and learn to mangle rhyme ! 
Wouldst thou bo famous? make each pun a putt"; 
"Wouldst quoted be ? — the path is plain enough : 
Be broad as Burton,('') and as Barnum bold — 
Make brass j-our base, but galvanize with gold ; 
Make friends of editors — to stop their cark, — 
Then prig in peace — like Knickerbocker Clakk ! 

Oh ! Clark ! prince-pauper of the rhyming crew ! 
Who lives on "tickle me — I'll tickle you." 
Too light my blade, perchance, at him to lunge. 
Whose monthly "Table" is a monthly sponge. 
Absorbing authors dead and authors quick — 
A Ghoul of letters — living by " Old Ivnick !" 
While genius struggles at starvation's gate, 
Smart talent dwells in comfortable state ; 
Wliile genuine merit scarce a dog attends, 
Clark shows a " Gallery" of obsequious friends ! 
So true, that self-complacent mediocrities 
Are moi'c esteemed than Seneca or Socrates. 



Does Putnam foster native worth ?('*) — 'tis weakness ; 
( He'll ne'er attain to Knickerbocker sleekness. ) 

cv Would he get rich ? — behold a bright example — 
:0 See brazen Harper o'er all justice trample : 





Duganne. 



J^srf 



PARNASSUS IN 



Behold liim clieer his Uterary hacks on, 

To steal from authors, G-allic, Scotch, and Saxou ! 

Putnam ! gladly does the muse attest 

Thy -wishes faithful to her high behest! 

While mouthing Cakey(*'') voids his rheumy spite, 

And frothy Raymond^"') barks, but dare not bite ; 

While traitor's stab, and cowards skulk behind — 

'Tis thine to battle for thy country's Mind ! 

Time settles all — and Time will make amends ; 

For "Authors' Rights" may yet be Putnam's friends; — 

When Harper's trade (that's literary theft !) 

By righteous laws shall be of shelter 'reft ; 

And ancient "Knick" remain, (if Heaven chooses,) 

A " Lying-in-Eetreat" for naughty muses. 

Cantab Longfellow ! — poet and professor ! 

Of " AVashington's Head-Quarters" sole possessor: 

Beloved by booksellers, adored of " sophs" — 

Lo ! at thy name my muse her bonnet dofts ; 

Yet, in the mighty name of law, I venture 

For debt thou owest the world to make debenture. 

Not for the debts thou owest a score or less 

Of foreign bards,('') who now wear Yankee dress; 

Not for thy clippings of old rusty coins — 

(Thy head enriches what thy hand purloins ;) 

Not for thy thought-webs cribbed from monkish looms 

They're better in thy tomes than in their tombs ; 



i 




Poetical Works. 

PAENASSUS IS PII.LOKY. 

Thy alchemy has made much gold from lead, 
So, "let the dead past bury" all " its dead ;" 
For ancient wounds let silence be the suture — 
I ask a debt thou owest the awful future ! 



Art and position, Hal ! make thee a poet : 
If Nature lends her signet, pray, let's know it ; 
Ilajily thy Harvard fame immortal seems, 
Ilaply thy name and verse be synonyms ; 
Yet, if thou wouldst thy proper glory reach, 
I say to thee, as Lear says, — "mend thy speech !" 
Cast off thy dressing-gown, and gird thy loins — 
And learn what Deity on song enjoins; 
Thou hast portrayed ideal wrongs and woes : 
Now, by my harp ! canst real Avi'ongs disclose ? 
Thou hast drawn tears for miseries long forgotten : 
Canst thou find nothing in our time that's rotten ? 
Oh ! that the churchyard Past were ransacked less ! 
These ghouls, the poets, then might mankind bless: 
If the old catacombs were left to moulder. 
Gold-mines of thought we'd find ere Pan grew older. 

Behold young Lowell .('") in whose soul there lies 
(Fathoms below where his own vision pries) 
A grand new world, of power, of love, of light, 
^Vliieli yet may flame — a star athwart our sight; 
If the dull shocks of life's chaotic wave 
Wash not away the orb which now they lave. 



^ 



J-^S^^^^ 






Duganne. 

Tj^ PARNASSUS rS PILLORY. ' 

Lowell ! now sententious — now most wordj — 

Tliy hai-p Cremona half — half hurdy-gurdy ; 

Wouldst thou arise and climb the steeps of heaven ? 

Sandals and statf are for thj' journej' given ; 

Woiildst thou embrace the poet-preachei-'s lot 

Nor purse nor scrip will lift thy steps a jot ! 

Forth on the highways of the general mind, 

Thy soul must walk, in oneness with mankind. 

Thou hast done well, but thou canst yet do better, 

And, winning credit, make the world thj^ debtor. 

Poiir out thy heart — albeit with flaws and fractures : 

Give us thyself — not "Lowell manufiictures ;" 

Then shall thy music vibrate through our pulse. 

And all thy songs be milestones of results. 

But if, in thy true eagle-like aspirings. 

The " mousing-owl" of Harvard choke thy choirings; 

If, haplj', drugged with Tennysonian theme. 

Thy genius stoop to dally and to dream ; 

Ji- — worse than all — fanaticism clods 

The song which is Humanity's — and God's, — 

Then may no satire of tlw being tell ! 

Then, Lowell! to thy fame "a long farewell!" 



A 




Hark I Whittier's sledge^) upon the hearts of men 
Beats in continual music — " ten-pouud-ten !" 
i Sworn foe of "institutions patriarchal," 

Black ground, he finds, gives gems a brighter sparkle. /V 




Poetical Works. 

PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 

Lo ! how he conies, with earnest heart and loyal, 

Flanked by his ordnance for a battle royal ; 

Swinging a club, might stagger Hercules, 

To dash the mites Ironi oft' a mouldering cheese ; 

Roaring like Stcntor from his brazen throat, 

To drown some snappish spaniel's yelping note ; 

All, Whither ! Fighting Friend ! I like thy verse — 

Thy wholesale blessing and thy wholesale curse ; 

I prize the spirit which exalts thy strain. 

And joy when truth impels thy blows amain ; 

But really, friend! I cannot help suspecting, 

Though writing's good, there's merit in correcting ! 

Hahnemann likes best "the thirtieth dilution, "C^) 

But poetry scarce bears so much diffusion ; 

The honia'opathic thought (though truth suljlime) 

Dies, through materia medi.ea of rhyme ; 

So, AVuiTTiER ! give less lexicon, and more 

Good thought — of which, no doubt, thou hast a store. 

Give us, if thou wouldst sing a flying slave, 

Just as few bars as he or she would crave ; 

And if on "Ichabod" thou launchest malison, (") 

Make it no longer than two books of Alison. 

And, further, Wiiittier ! " an thou lovest me," 

Let thy chief subject for a while go free ; — 

Or else, (how frail "Othello's occupation !") 

When slavery falls, will fall thine avocation ! 

Living the black man's friend, i'fuith, thou'lt die so: 

A paraphrase of Wilmot's great proviso \{^'^) 

209 o 

'-QS^y-^ - — -«^'(i/3-i 




Duganne. 

PARNASSUS IN PILLOET. 

Whittier, adieu ! my blows I would not spare, 
For when I strike, I strike wlio best can bear ; 
Oft in this rhyme of mine I lash full hard 
The man whom most I love, as friend and bard ; 
Even as the leech, inspired by science pure. 
Albeit he probe and cauterize — must cure ! 



Trimoitntain ! long hast thou the Mecca been 
Of rhyming hadgees garbed in natural green ! 
Trimountain ! Kaaba — reverently kissed 
By Yankee bards — their " blarney-stone" I wist.C') 
To thee came Peabody('') — to thee came Doane ;('') 
M'Lellan,(''"') Pike, and Sprague, were all thine own: 
Pierpout and Everett(''") sang for thee their strains ; 
And savage SnellingC"^) flogged them for their pains. 
Ah, me ! if once thou hadst such magnet skill, 
Our bai'ds to sway — I pray thee, use it still ! 
Wake as of old the three-stringed Yankee lyres. 
And sound the pitchpipe of !tTew England choirs ; 
Ask if John Neal no longer feels the flame 
With which he lit of yore the bonfire, fiime ? 
Or heads no more his charging lines, to ride 
Booted and spurred through all the country wide ? 
Time was, when, vocal as his "fierce graj' bird," 
In parish schools his shrieking lays were heard ; 
And embryo poets felt their quickening life, 
When "Pierpont's Readers"('"^) woke the classic strife ! 







Poetical Works. 

PAIlSASsrS IX IMLLORY. 

Mellifluous PiERPONT ! wliose Horatian odes 
Were counted heaviest among urchins' loads ; 
When parsing thee, they saw their trials past, 
Nor valued gems so painfully amassed. 
Ah ! many a gem indeed hath been encased 
By Pierpout's industry and Pierpont's taste ; — 
And many a gem in quiet beauty glows, 
(Wliich Griswold ne'er would venture to disclose,) 
Where Burleigu's songs, attuned with placid love. 
Rose from his lips to blend with those above ; 
Where Dawes'('"^) melodious childhood passed away. 
And WooDWOKTu's('°'^) genius framed its virgin lay. 

'Tis a coincidence worth special credit. 

That Sargent should the "Boston Transcript"("*) edit; 

Strange the "poetic justice" does not strike him, 

(I throw the hint out, as I rather like him. 

Because my favorite bards his muse rehearses,) 

Of jDutting "Boston Transcript" on his verses. 

Poor man ! I mourn his euphuistic grammar, 

I mourn "Velasco," and the "Standard Drama;" 

I mourn — ^but, no ! I w^ish him fame sincerely : 

"Athens the modern" dubs her poets yearly ; 

Perhaps at "Annual Odes" he'll distance Sprague; 

Or baffle Emerson with problems vague ; — 

Perchance, like Pierpont, prove 'tis wrong to tipple ; 

Or ape Macaula}', like sententious Whipple IC"^) 






Duganne. 

PAKX.4SSUS LN PILLORY. 

0, Emerson ! some transatlantic Solon 
(As a discoverer, sure, he rivals Colon,) 
Has found that in thj' brain (commodious quarters !) 
Lives all the poesy this side of the waters.("") 
Ah, me ! methinks this critic spiritual 
Has proved thy favorite creed — that man is dual. 
"Would that his wisdom might reveal the fact 
Of thy Poetic Essence — all intact ! 
Would that the Heart-Beat of the Awful Whole 
Could pulse distinct and gauge thy Breadth of Soul ! 
Till Sense Incarnate, robed in Suns like Amnion, 
Might permeate, and throb through Space — and- 
gammon. 

Speaking of gammon — I destroyed, last night, 
(In several vain attempts to strike a light,) 
Destroyed, ye gods ! a work that would have burst 
Like sunlight o'er the world ! out-rhymiug Hirst — 
Out-mouthing Lunt — out-agonizing Emerson — 

Out hold ! the idea brings increasing tremors on. 

It was a poem upon the softer gender — 
Sublime, imique, expressive, touching, tender! 
Such adjectives! such nouns! such punctuation ! — 
Such awful strength! and such alliteration ! 
In it sweet Edith May, with true abandon, 
Was placed some twenty pegs above poor Landon ; 
SiGOURNET plucked from Homans' brow the m3Ttle, 
And Hale was Sappho — with a lunger kirtle ; — 



-h^,5^e/T- s-<rNS>'2/5) 




Poetical Works. ,>_^ 



PARNASSUS IN PII.LORY. 

Greenwood was iSTortou and De Stael united 




And Blessington for Mistress Neal was slighted. 
To some nine more I gave the Muses' names, 
As PiERSoN, SwissHELM, and kindred dames. 
Alas ! that such a poem — on bards so gentle — 
Was lost — by conflagration accidental ; 
Griswold alone, in some bright si)irit-flashes, 
Can raise this Yankee-phoenix from its ashes. 

But, apropos — when poetry's "the fashion," 
Women and men alike must feel the passion : 
Verse-writing 's very nice on gilt-edged vellum. 
Crow-quilled hy some young literary Pelham. 
Let women write — their will 'tis useless baulking: 
They do less harm by writing than by talking ! 
Write — write ! but oh ! I charge each rhyming daughter, 
Let not the men purloin your milk and water ! 

IIo ! for the West ! the boundless, buoyant West ! 
'Tis monstrous dull, when poetry's the quest. 
Wliere Mississippi's awful grandeurs roll. 
Like an eternal anthem through the soul ; 
"Where tombs of empires rise in endless wo, 
Colossal epics of the tribes below ; — 
"Where leaped the Mammoth, with a bound terrific, 
From Rocky Mountains to the far Pacific ;('"') 
"Where border-frays, that beat old Scottish forays, 
Impromptu duels, and red Indian soirees, — 
2'3 



MST 





Duganne. 



PARNASSUS IN riLLOET. 



Aud all that makes the human hair most vertical, 
As commou-place transactions are assert-ical ;("") 
Sure, in a clime so stirring and romantic, 
The muse and Pegasus must hoth grow frantic. 




Frantic ! ah, uo ! the West, -n-ith sage reflection, 
Confines her muse to pinafore subjection ; 
And save when Peenticb,('") after hock and soda, 
Invokes his song as Fingal conjured Loda ; — 
Wielding the falchion of his classic wit 
To oust the phantoms that around him flit; 
Unconscious all, that while, with accents loud. 
He wooes his muse, his muse is hut a cloud : 
And save when Gallagher,("-) with trenchant stroke. 
Cleaves out a verse as woodmen rend an oak. 
And, haply, rising from the flat inane. 
Pipes on the airs of heaven a golden strain : — 
Save and except, at times, some bulbul notes. 
Fresh from a few sequestered maidens' throats. 
That sometimes please and sometimes strangely jar, — • 
I know not where our western poets are. 
iSTot Orton soars to strike the highest chord : 
ISTot Pike uor Patten — nor Legar^ uor Lord ! 
Xot even Chivers,('") from whose virgin muse 
The cjraceless PoE stole all that she covild lose, 
I^nhappy Ciiivers, whose transcendent lays 
Are out of place in these degenerate days, 
1^4 






o 




) Poetical Works. ^^, 

PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 

And yet for whom, were half bis verses burned, 
A poet's fome tbe otber half bad earned, — 
Ab ! not from these, or such as these, shall rise 
Immortal song to occidental skies. 
Wlien tbe great Iliad of the sunset land 
Is writ, it must be by a Homer's baud : 
'Till then, low-brooding through its busy life, 
Tbe "Western Poem shall be Manhood's Strife ! 
Loud as the thunders of thy surging woods, 
Broad and majestic as thine awful floods, 
Deep as thy soundless caves, mighty West ! 
Thus be thy song — an ocean in thy breast ! 



Rest thee, mine Harp ! my wearied band I fling, 
With scarce an impulse, o'er each quivering string! 
My thankless task hath reached its natural term- 
Wisdom its fruit— though Folly was its germ. 
Not mine to scathe with bitter jest the heart. 
Or reckless launch tbe slanderer's jealous dart ;— 
Not mine to prostitute tbe gift of song, 

To wreak revenge for real or fancied wrong;— 

Behind my jest no covert malice slept— 

From out my praise no iuuendo crept : 

An honest Anglo-Saxon round of blows 

I've dealt alike upon my friends and foes ; 

And, if I struck full oft within the guard- 
Be sure, I might have struck ten times as bard ! (^ 



■is^- 



-^^~ 




Duganne. 






NOTES 



JJarnasstts in pUlorg* 



(1) 

Convened them aU,ihen hrohe each harp and head. 

The coup d' itat of Edward I. (so effectual that 
the Cambrian muse has remained tongue-tied 
ever since) might be imitated once a century 
with good results in every country. Though 
unmerciful, it would certainly be (poetically) 
just. 

(2) 
And ft-Jic mi/heart to "ffartard'a" earlier lyre. 

The reputation of Longfellow (to whom al- 
lusion is here made) will rest more upon the 
merits of his early and less pretending lyrics, 
than upon the "Golden Legend," or even "Evan- 
geline." 

(3) 
ask where Peter's fceys are. 

It is currently reported that a question like 
this was propounded by a well-known travelling 
■' litterateur," after having been shown through 
the Vatican. 

haoh that Griswold ediU. 

Rufus "Wilmot Griswold, D.D. LL.D. The 
world is indebted to this distinguished bibliopole 
for the celebrated compendium of classic verse 
known as "Griswold's Poets and Poetry of Amer- 
ica." The work is, I am told, still extant. 

(5) 

recfipt^ o/ shoemnl-em and drapers. 

Nathaniel Parker Willis will occupy no 
small space in the literary and social history of 
his time. He calls himself "the best abused man 
in the country," and has managed to figure ex- 
tensively in poetry, gossip, libel and divorce 
Buits-at-law, journalism and — snobism. The 
printing (e;i mnsse) of his tradusmon's bills, 
(when accused of non-payment of them,) was a 
stroke of advertising which certainly merited a 
receipt in full. Beau Brummel could have run 
another score on the strength of it — hut genius 
is sometimes unequal. 



(6) 
"Mi-boy," and "brigadier. 
"Willis published a daily paper, called "Th* 
Mirror," (in a street near Barnum'a Museum 
and Drummond Light,) in which himself and 
partner (G. P. Morris) were affectedly distin- 
guished as "mi-boy" and " brigadier." The 
"Jlirror" is still printed— but is now little read, 
and less esteemed. 



J. Bayard Taylor is a noted traveller, poet, 
lecturer, and one of the editors of the N. T. Tri- 
bune. His infant muse was dry-nursed by Wil- 
lis, and cradled in *' The Mirror," after which he 
accomplished a pedestrian tour over Europe, and 
vrrotQ a book called " Europe seen with Knap- 
sack and Staff, " (rather singular mediums of 
vision.) George Washington Dixon, the lite- 
rary-musical-pedestrian, has walked more miles 
than Taylor, but not with such profit to himself. 
Since printing his last batch of " Travels," Tay- 
lor has subsided into a lecturer, retailing his 
dollar books in two-shilling readings— a plan 
shrewdly beneficial to public and author. As a 
lecturerr Bayard is as good as Greeley, and 
Greeley is the worst in the country. 



(8) 
Barnum's poet'laureate. 
Taylor was the winner ofa prize of $200 offered 
by the noted P. T. Barnura (showman) for "the 
best" song to be sung by Jenny Lind. 



(9) 

Bore's TUCKERMAN 

Of air. Henry T. Tuckerman little is known 
save that he has travelled, and is a critic in mat- 
ters of "awt." 



MS" 



^^^^^A-4 



Poetical Works. 



NOTES TO PARNASSUS IN PILLOEY. 



(10) 



Smooth, unctuous Morris 

Brig. Gen. N. Y. State Militia, Resident- \ 
Editor " Home Journal," Author of "Wood- 
man ! Spare that Tree." Demi-civil and demi- 
martial, he blends delicately the strength of 
Catullus with the fire of Wordsworth. j 

(ID 

the hapkf's men of music-etorfs. 

Onr American music-publishers are noted for 
printing the veriest trash in the shape of verso. 
They "never mind the words," so that the re- | 
quisite jingle he preserved— and the requisite , 
tconomy; for more penurious fellows than are ' 
some of these might seldom be met. Mauy a | 
dollar do they realize by the sale of poetry for 
which the poor author never received a penny. 
Let them " adapt" this verso, which is furnished 
gratis : 

O Walker. Hall, and Fiot, 

For ballads furnished free, O 
Q\n% Jubilate deo! 
(12) 

hut, oh! ainee "Brutus. 

"Brutus, or The Fall of Tarquin" by John 
Howard Payne, the author of "Home, sweet 
Home," is one of the very few plays by Ameri- 
cans that have become stock-pieces through their 
own merit. " Spartacus," "Metamora," and 
"Jack Cade" all owe their popularity to Ed- 
win Forrest, the actor, for whom they were 
written. 

(13) 

believe in Corny SlATHEWS. 

Cornelius Blathews. nicknamed "Puffer Hop- 
kins," (from a novel with that title, of which he 
was the unhappy author.) wrote two plays, 
"Jacob Leisler" and "Witchcraft," both pro- 
duced by Murdoch, the tr.-igedian, and both 
played with equal success, i". e. none at all. But 
Mathews has always shown himself a staunch 
advocate of the necessity of an *' International 
Copyright Law," and for this (if for no other 
merit,) deserves the good will of American au- 
thors. 

(14) 



(15) 

his Jirohen-Hearted. 

Mr. Mayne Reid was much addicted 
printing a poem called " The Brokun-Hearted" 
in every unfortunate newspaper to which ho had 
access. At last he flung his lost liopes ("Love's 
Martyr" included) into the Mexican War. from 
which he returned unharmed, and (perhaps to 
establish his reputation for boldness) ajiplicd for 
a sword bequeathed by General Jackson to the 
"bravest soldier of the next war." 

(U;) 
Andprocen by one most tinuticofBen Bolt;" 
T/nU "Donkey John" 's of I'rf/anu^ a volt. 
Dr. Thomas Dunn English (whom Poe so 
mercilessly noticed as "Dunn Brown") is a 
most incougr\ious author; has written some of 
the best and worst things in the langu.ige. His 
touching ballad of " Bon Bolt" is a hnuse-hold 
song. He was at one time principal writer for 
a " funny" periodical printed in Philadelphia, 
called "John Donkey"— the best attempt at a 
"Punch" that our dyspeptic jokers ever perpe- 




s Byn 



I BOK 



(17) 
tt icilh c 









Mr. Geo. H. Boker, (prainominatcd "Byron" 
by his friend Willis.) author of "Calaynos," 
"Anne Boleyn," "The Bttrothal," etc. "Calay- 
nos" was acted at Sadler's Wells, a third-rate 
London playhouse, whereat our critics (as in 
duty bound) acknowledged its merits. Bciker 
has genius, but inclines to the American " lake 
school" of Temiysonian imitators. Like Bay- 
ard Taylor, he cultivates liberally n delicate 
hirsute attraction— a high recommendation ; for 
it is reported that when the last-meutioned 
"walking-gentleman" lectured at Kalamazoo, 
(Mich.,) a lady was asked her opinion of the 
performance ; to which she replied nnletly, "Oh! 
it was excellent I he has such a Hrcee( mustaebel" 

(IS) 
"Blachttone" pilloKing hix mnje»t\r hmd. 
He.vrt B. Hirst is a lawyer in decent prac- 
r barter. I tice,— so his literary vagaries may not be aeri- 

It is told of a certain Philadelphia lessee, that ; ously detrimental to his purse ; he is counted a 
he was used to offer to authors, for their plays, "dead shot" in the sporting line, is a bird- 
" half cash-half truck ;" the latter euphonious fancier, amateur florist, and might be famous as 
word signifving merchandize, or "orders" for a politician; dabbles m metaphysics, sometimes 
seats. Certe's, one noted manager, who was en- spoils canvas, and has modelled some exquisite 
gaged in the "patent-medicine line." was in the , lay-figures in poetry; thinks himself remarka- 
habit of underlining his bills of the day with ] bly like Shakspearo. and t^-fur aught I know 
quack advertisements, {e.g.) 






I to the contrary. If I style him " Zincalo," my 
' sense is "Pickwickian," and not personal. 



iTiiu 



f Evening. 
t NlRht. 



N B.— The celebrated Bydro-Tetatic PilU and 
Yrrmifuqe Balm, can be had at the Box 
OJlce by the doEcn, single box, or package." 



I (19) 

"SJiakspenre and me" 

' A grammatic expression peculi 
thor of "Endymion.' 



illustration out of 



;3= 





Duganne. 



NOTES TO PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 



a a Poem of Mr. Hirst's entitled "Val- 
ley of Repose," in which occurs the following 

^-v "M.y bride and me shall kneel and humbly pray." 

<A (2U) 

S all the Smiths enrol. 

Prophetic line! Alexander (the Great) Smith 
has since loomed upon the world. 

I (21) 

Look where Geneva 7nocIcs a martyr's cries. 

If Servetus, Seneca, or any of the martyrs to 
an idea, could have been consoled by the cer- 
tainty that their thoughts would survive them, 
the bed of torture might have seemed a couch 
of roses. "While Hope sustains Genius, she is 
invulnerable: Despair is her agony and death- 



vail. 



(22) 




Gin gratis — and eight dollars eacJi per diem. 
This is a portion of a lampoon which some 
Michael Steno, who had not the fear of neat- 
ness before his eyes, M-rote on the doors of the 
Senate-chambor, at Washington, on a certain 
occasion when Congress had adjourned to attend 
the races. 

(23) 

An expletive unfortunately too familiar in 
congressional debate. 

(2i) 
JVo.' "Ellen Jeicett" his sleeping sense recalls. 
The "Life" of this wretched woman is one of 
the least objectionable of the class of books al- 
luded to ; the life of a courtezan murdered by a 
libertine. A sad comment upon public taste, 
that such works should command extensive 

(25) 
Wrote UOFFMAN-'S 

Charles Fenno Hoffman, the " Echo" poet.— 

(26) Epes Sargent, the " Transcript" poet.— 

(27) Park Benjamin, the Sonnetteer. (2S) Ralph 
Waldo Emerson, the Sage.— (29) Rufus Dawes, 
the Clergj-man. — (30) George Lunt, author of 
"The Age of Gold."— (31) R. H. Stoddard, 
yonngest of the American Lake School. 

(32) 
Harvard grant/: itn baiison. 
The Cambridge poets, and their imitators, are 
ineffably Tonnysonian. 

(33) 

the "tibia" of our frits. 

The initials of Head's name. "T. B. R." have 
been laid hold of by classic wags, and the joke 
contributes not a little to the poet's reputation. 



(34) 

titbits from a thousand "marts." 

1 have distinguished this last word by quo- 
tation-marks, inasmuch as it has been so often 
used by Read, in his poems, that I conceive he 
has earned a pre-emption right to it. 

(35) 

Sybarite soul. 

If the Sybarite was incommoded by a rose-leaf 
placed under his couch, I fear my young friend 
"Tibia" will hardly relish the levity with 
which the satirist alludes to his mimosa-like 
genius. 

(36) 

tJte "Wliig Revieic." 

The "American Review" criticised Read 
with great acrimony — and injustice. 

(37) 

WJien Eynders icieldf, like fferrules, his "club." 

The "Empire Club," a political organization 

of New York, was long swayed by a notorious 

bar-room politician, called Captain Rynders. 

(38) 

from Post to Post. 

William Cullen Bryant, the poet of nature, is 
likewise editor of the " New York Evening 
Post," a staunch partizan journal, devoted to 
the democratic side of politics. 

(39) 

making him a classical Procrui<tes. 

The coolness with which the old robber 
lopped or stretched his hapless guests, to pro- 
portion them to the dimensions of his iron- 
bedstead, was not a bad ante-type of that modern 
sang-froid which would reduce all orders of 
genius to a standard medium. When will the 
world come to Mrs. Malaprop's conclusion re- 
specting " comparisons ?" 





(40) 




a neio AntcFUS is. 


The olassi 


, giant's name affords 


rhyme. 





Aster's clerk. 

FiTZ Greene Halleck, a line lyrist, and a 
satirist, of some pretensions, (as his poem enti- 
tled "Fanny" evinces,) was during twenty years 
a confidential clerk of the millionaire. J.J. Astor, 
who, at his death, bequeathed the poet an an- 
nuity. For some unexplained reason, Unlleck 
long ago abandoned the harp which he ort«n 
struck with true bardic fury. 



?S' 





Poetical Works. 



NOTES TO PARNASSUS IN PILLORY. 



neglect of high 



s JttU. 



and 



Like afreeU damn'd — 
Afreets (according to Eastern superstiti 
evil spirits haunting desert places 
but condemned to suffer for th' 

(«) 
Thou-H dare the /lame^o/fccn a cntl 
R. H. Stoddard, like many a young author, 
has allowed himself to be " coddled" too much, by 
the literary old women who delight in poetic 
bantlings. He may yet. however, have uerve 
enough to follow my advice ; though I doubt 
if Orpheus himself ever attempted so deep or 
BO infernal a descent as the gulf of American 
criticism; but our youug poet is said to be 
writing a Plutonian epic, and may possibly ac- 
climate himself to caloric before that is finished. 

(44) 

Rfckle.<'s of DnvcKiscK 

The brothers Duyckixck (two young men 
of classic attainments) edited for several years 
a journal called the ■* Literary World," a sort 
of Areopagus, which determined on the claims 
of sophomoric and blue-stocking authors. 

(45) 




. ihcy calM fiim "Echo." 

An article, charging lion 
isin. imitation of Sloore, ki 
English magazine, whereupon our author 
printed a collection of his poems, calling it 
"The Echo"; decidedly a too auggtstice title, 
as it turned oat. 

(46) 

Equal to WaUfr's " richest" songn, or JTerrick's. 

An "opinion as is an opinion," by the author 

of " Griswold's Poets and Poetry of America." 

See art, " Uoffman." 

(47) 

a nort of "prortor. 

A " proctor" is a college officer. I make this 
explanation, that no malicious reader may seek 
to discover any sinister allusion to the bard 
of that name. Hoffman is at least not Barry 
Cornwall's "Echo"— and never will be. 



harp with pearls and oi 
physics and mcta]ihor, soienco 
into divers palatable dishes of rhy 
W. Bethcne is a clever clergymi 
lent at making verses. 

(50) 
And hefdlr-tx all of Jire-bolti rou 

Jobs Piebfont is extensively kn 
prose and poetic champion of cold water. He 
was at one time engaged iu a fierce controversy 
with his parishioners, many of whom, being in- 
terested in the very profitable business of dis- 
tilling, naturally took umbrage atthoir pastor's 
I zeal in the cause of teroporauce. Many futile 
efforts were made to oust the reverend poet 
from his pulpit, which I think he hold by a life- 
tenure. I forget how the matter ended, but re- 
collect the steeple of Pierponfs church was 
twice struck by lightoing during the division 
of his flook. 

(M) 

The charms of "Adam'a Atf" iccre stmg hy 

Wallacb. 

A volume of Cold Water Melodies, written by 

William Ross Wallace, was printed at Boston 

in 1840, or earlier. It is a pity that the poet did 

not continue in the faith of cold water; but, 

alas! in years past, Gotham has behold many 

fine geniuses go down to the grave, victims to 

1 spite of every effort 



with plagiar- their self-indu' 
an put forth to sav 



them 



(48) 

Once Percival, • 

James G. Percival gave promise of much 
greatness ; but his muse was evidently too clns- 
sio for our work-a-day world, and so subsided 
into common-place. 

(49) 

Fondick — or Bfthnne t 

Why these names are juxta-posed is imma- 
terial. W. W. FOSDICK is a humorons, pnthotic. 
and bathotio Western writer, who strings his 

219 



(52) 

Wic Cutter's, j/oe? hg '*steam." 

In allusion to a stirring lyric, written by Geo. 
W. Cutter, a Western poet. 

(53) 

JifJierreasNeaVH 

John Neal, of Portland, Me., a bard of ac- 
knowledged genius, and mnoh eccentricity. 

;54) 

lihe miik-and-water COB'-S. 

Coe J3 not selected personally as an aqua- 
lacteal specimen, but rises to the dignity of a 
type of his class; i.e. the tuneful choir who 
contribute to the classic pages of Peterson's 
and Oodey's magazines, and occasionally min- 
ister to the necessities of needy printers, by 
publishing " collections" of their *' poems." 



(55) 
If Grixicold shrine thee, or if Graham gcorn. 
Time was when Graham, of magazine me- 
mory, was quite a Majcenas of youthful scrib- 
blers; but, alas! his glory has departed. The 
triangular duel between himself and Griswold, 
and the phn^t of poor Poe, was the last exploit 
of Graham. 






Duganne. 



NOTES TO FAKXASSUS IN PILLORY. 



(56) 

cJio^es the English worse than Thuggista. 

We doubt if any Thaggist, expert though he 
ight be, could ever have strangled an English 



'er have strangi 
nabob with more adroitness thi 
bibits in his constant attacks o 
language. 



1 Willis ex- 
the English 



(57) 

tells tales of peers. 

Was it "Jottings down in London," or some 
other of Willis's gossip, that rehearsed the din- 
ner-talk of English nobility! 

(58) 

Lihe Mah-meVs coffin 

The prophet's coffin is said to be suspended 
by powerful loadstones at some height from the 

(59) 
Reads De Trobriand in an English guise. 
De Trobriand was a Frenchman, who con- 
ducted with much ability the "Seoiie du JV'oii- 
vfati ifojidc"— rendered into copious English 
through the Home Journal; in spite of which 
it — deceased, 

(60) 
Moulding from dragona' teeth its armld men. 
I admire the beauty of this classic myth. 
It is a blessed thing that Nature works out her 
own beautiful results, through the most un- 
shapely means. "Who knows but that the spec- 
tacle of a talented man, making a show of him- 
self, may be ordained on the principle which 
led the ancient Lacedemonians to exhibit an 
inebriated slave to their children — to disgust 
them with the sin of drunkenness. 

(61) 

. upheld by FREEMAN ScOTT. 

For the benefit of the ignorant reader, I will 
state that Mr. Freeman Scott is a poetic Cur- 
tius, who threw himself into the gulf of nulli- 
fication, and (in a Tickwickian sense) saved the 
country. Rewrote a " Song for the Union," 
and offered a prize of $50 for appropriate music, 
to which it was in fact sung, at the great Union 
meeting of 15,000 unterrified patriots in the 
Chinese Museum, Philadelphia. He deserves 
immortality— and shall have it. 

(62) 

Though riKK shall bawl • 

Albert Pike is one of the Western poets who 
has some claim to merit, though not to the ex- 
tent claimed by a few of hia admirers. 

(63) 

Though Simms 

William Gilmorb Simms has written some 
passable novels, but is not a poet, and his epic 
of *' Florida" will not live as long as Paradise 



Lost. However, as very little is known of the 
work, (which is the case with most lengthy 
American poems,) perhaps Ponce de Leon's 
draught may be mixed up with it: so I shall 
not be positively negative concerning Simms's 
prospect of immortality. 

(64) 

Though light-Jtorse Street 

Alfred B. Street: who writes up Indian, 
loves and sorrows into metrical tales. 

(65) 

Though ffosmer 

W. H. nosMER ditto 

(66) 
Feari/ig, Wie Raleigh, danger if he climb. 
Sir Walter's celebrated couplet, and Queen Eli- 
zabeth's rejoinder, are so well known that their 
repetition here is hardly worth the apace occu- 
pied — nevertheless, it may be as well to say 
that, on one occasion, the maiden queen ob- 
served young Kaleigh write with a diamond 
upon a pane of glass — 

" Fain ivould I climb, but that I fear to fall ;" 
whereupon, (when he had departed,) she wrote ' 
beneath — 

'■ If tby heart Pail thee, do not climb at all," 

(67) 

Thg "Blach-imith" 

The "Blacksmith's Night," is one of Hoyt's 
best poems. 

(68) 

. Harris is he Jtight. 

Rev. Thos. L. Harris: quite a noted "me- 
dium" among the Spiritualists, who asserts that 
spirits of departed poets speak through him, 
(while entranced.) He has already produced 
two epics, and, as they sell rapidly, I doubt not 
the afflatus will continue. Asfanciful improvi- 
sations, IlAiiKis's poems might be curious ; but 
as emanations from Dante, Tasso, Milton, (and 
others of equal pi-etensioim,) they are unworthy 




(69) 



S the V 



no/ Phalan 



Phalaris was a Grecian tyrant, who caused a 
bull to bo made of hollow brass, into which he 
thrnsta victim, and then heated red-hot, till the 
sufferer's groans made the bull seem to roar. 

(70) 

rnfil the shining lines of heaven's topography. 

Harris gives elaborate descriptions of all the 

appearances of the planets— their mountains^ 

valleys, etc. 

(-1) 

kiss pla}}t Tain 3farkeltnr, 

Mackellar is a poet of modest pretensions 
but of much real merit, residing in Philadelphia. 



-^ 



Poetical Works. 



-°-^^^M 



f 



NOTES TO PAttXASSl'S IX PILLOKY. 



(72) 



(82) 



Bard of "Eureka" and of "Lyomdalc." j 
"Caleb Lyon of Lyansdate" is a modern trou- 
badour ; penning at Sau Fi'anoisoo a lyric for 
the " Eureka State"— chautiug Beini-Spanish 
ballads through South America— apostrophiz- 
ing Jenny Lind in Gotham, and "stumping' , 
himself into Congross by poetic speech-making 

in Kcneral. 

(73) 

Linhal llie Pacijir- icilli lliine oirii great name. 

Among Lyon's achievements mustnotbe forgot- 
ten the design of the California State Seal— for 
which ho received $10«0 and a place in the 
"golden archives." This is even better than 
being "sung in all the oliurohes," like General 
George P. Morris. 

miUgn thy " bear" Itij calling <I a bore. 
A " grizzly bear" formed part of the seal-do- 
sign mentioned above. The Mexicans in Cali- 
fornia were first defeated by the Americana, 
under a flag with this device. 
(75) 

in reran and Cithay. 

The bard of Lyonsdale is noted for his trans- 
lations from Hafiz, the Persian, and Souchong- 
Bohea, (if "e quote right,) the Shanghai bard. 

(70) 



ir. 




- like Taylor'H, through banditti. 
In his "travels," »iule traversing Mexico, 
Taylor was tied to a tree, and robbed by Mexi- 
can footpads. We cannot think that our young 
Bayard emulated the chevalier '■ amu pettr et 
>uiw rrproehe," in his Mexican adventure. 
But all our poeU are not expected to be Kcer- 
ners i or, perhaps, Taylor's fame (unlike that 
of Ariosto) had not procedai him among the 
" moon's minions." 

(77) 

lh<il polymathie trondtrr. Story ! 

The son of Judge Story i (said to be a miracle 
of Boston learniug.) 

And «o dare D*!!A 

A new edition of Rioh.-\rd Dana's poems has 
lately appeared, including " The Buccaneer," 
■with its " spirit corse," familiar as of old. 

(79) 

Breal Jove ! eosn SHKAGUE 

Charles SpRAGUB, » Boston banker, who, 
many years ago, wrote a poem, called " Curi- 
osity." and has ever since been one of Boston's 
poetic fossils. ^^^ 

jHiere- Peter Pauley niugs 

Sam. G. Goodrioli, the worthy concoctor of 
ohUdreu's books, is alao addicted to rhyme. 

(81) 

and FlEi.ns U quoted. 

Jflmea O. Fields is one of the purtuers !n the 
publialiing house of Tloknor. Reed and Fields. 
Fields is piquant, quite Inklsh, and 
passably clever. 



Bostonia'8 Hclkvn i« Cochitaiite. 

The Cochituate water (as any Bi.stimiau will 
assure you) is a perfectly innocent bvverage. 
(ti-i) 

O Doctor Holmes! 

O. W. Holmes has written some very humoi^ 

ou8 poetry, and is a genial and versatile writer; 

but be makes execrable puns. 

(84) 

And sell your ink to prove our tnnthi. 

For the perpetration of these enormities, I 

plead in excuse my desire to present the reader 

with a sample of tho doctor's own assortment. 

(S5) 

I'our "Lust L^r 

Holmes's " Last Leaf is a poem of decided 

(86) 

Saxe xcrott a ftniire 

John G. Saxe, editor of a paper in Burling- 
ton, Vt., has acquired quite a reputation for 
humour, but is inferior to Holmes as a poet. 
(W) 

Be broad as BUKTON 

W. E. Burton, a theatrical manager and 
comedian ; a graceful writer, but exooodingly 
coarse in much of bis dramatic delineation. 

(87*) 
Clark! princf.-pau}ier of the rltyming rme. 

Gaylord Clark, of the Knickerbocker Maga- 
zine, (though doubtless a very good fellow.) is a 
most unmitigated eleemosynary object in the 
way of gratis-coutributions, out of which, and 
Joe Miller, be serves up a monthly ollit-podridn 
of pathos and bathos. He lias lately published 
a volume called the " Knickerbocker GftUery." 
made up of articles furnished by authors ambi- 
,U3 of having their interesting faces exhibited 
the public in a sort of Valhalla of American 
genius. 




(8S) 
Doea Putnam /osIitt native ivurth f 
P. Putnam, I verily believe, has en- 
deavoured to act manfully by native authors, 
and deserves their good-will. Though in speak- 
ing well of Putnam, (the man.) I am far from 
endorsing the vapidity of some later issues of the 
" Monthly," since it lost its original editor. Aa 
for Harper and hia coadjutors, thoy will, it 
is to be hoped, find their level before long. 
(89) 

While maulhiiKj CaREY • 

This is Henry C. Carey, a New Jersey gentle- 
man, who seems to be afflictod with tho scrib- 
bling Quixotism to a degree v. hich makes him 
haaard a literary tilt at every sort of windmill. 
(90) 

And frothy Raymond 

Henry J. Raymond, editor of tho New York 
Times, and Lieutenant-Governor of that State; 
an uneaey Uttlo man. who is continually getting 
into hot-water. His opposition to copyright is, 
•. very explicable and exoosablo, as his 
partner in the "Times" ia one of the "Harpers." 





Duganne. 

o 



KOTES TO PARSASSCS IX PILLORY. 



(91) I 

O/fpr^gn 6«rc7.* 

Longfellow owes much to his fiuuiliarity with 
EuTopoan literature — vide his translatious and 
the general foHc of his original matter. 
(■12) 

Bfhohl noang Iawkix ! 

James KussoU Lowoll has given moro abs(v- 
late promise, aud less ftxltilment, than nny 
young bard of our conntry. A man of geuitts 
should ba o\or on tbe march, and I-owelt loiters 
too much by th* way-sido. lie should take a few 
hints Crom his own " Fable for Critics." 
(93) 

Hark! Vk'mTtiZK's sMge 

John G. Whittipr. despiw tho BSuwnoss of his 
mus«, has won ;i r.inU.MivM^ f>>r strength and 
boldness whii-h i^ n, ; . o,>l *., . '.> ugh iu Uiis age 
of puerility. lU !>-.<<>> .m.:U vigor of ex- 
pression, bnt is i'tuii Vi'r; i'i\>iU. 

<W) 
lUnN'EUA.VN Ut»s h>!st " the thirtieth itilHtion." 
Thft " thirtieth dilution" is said to bo the best 
pro|>ortiou in homaxipathj. 
(95) 
Ami if OH "/fAofkxT' thou InuHfhtst malison. 
** Ichabod" was the caption of a poem which, 
in no half-way strain, arraigned a celebrated 
statesman for his reputed backslidings. 1 re- 
gretted this, beeause, while I hold poetry to be 
a fitting medium P>r the promulgation of great 
truth, defence of humanity, liberty, etc., 1 
lianlly esteem it the proper vehicle of equivo- 
cal personalities or abusive strieturvs. The 
true poet is of no iVw nor creed, p^r «■, Whit- 
tier is a true poet— bnt it is not in his uegro- 
philism that this fiet is most apparent James 
Ensselt Lowell — ditto, 

(96) 
A iHmii»*mw o/ W'Umot's ffrtot prorifo ! 
A iwlitical measure, brought before Congress, 
by a worihj- Penusylvaniau nametl Darid Wil- 
mot« who ^ras at one time threatened with un- 
premeditated immorlalit,v, but is now totally out 
of danger. 
IVu/uiHMjaiH .' JTmiixi — irrwvMdy kisgt*! 

Blackstone was the founder of the "Modem 
Athens." The Kaaba is a "blaek stone" at 
Mecca, heM in high veneration by all true 
Uoalems, on whom a pilgrimage to Mecea con- 
fers the Utle of "Ad.li;**.- aud the distinction 
of wearing a green turban. The "bUrney- 
•tone" is familiar to the authors who deal much 
with pubUfhers, 

(»S) 
I\» rA«v ctiw* Pkabopt. 

Pbabodt. a poor |H»et. (,99) Doink. a 

bislwi\ and ditto, — (,U>0> MolJCLUiH. IbW.— 
(ll>l) EvKKKTT, very olass.ie. p^>ee of llarvanl. 
Seeretary o< State uud*T Fillmore, and a jwor 
poet ; ftunous for a nauseon* rhyme, via :— 
" For Ri'itusu hearts &h:tll Kwg t>e »ick, 
Wb«u hm-u stiall Ibiak of Atarie \" 




(102) 

And savage Snelling • 

William J. Sneuliso, author of a pungent 

satire, entitled " Truth, a Gift for Scribblers," in 

which the rhymers were handled without gloves. 

(103) 

*'TrAi^ P(Vrj»Ht'« Readers" 

"Pierpout's Readers" were school-books ranch 

in vogue in New England, and many an urohia 

have they assisted to his " nine parts of speech." 

(l(M) 

Where Dawks 



s the author of " The 



Dawes is now a Swedenborgiau clergyman 
at Washington. D. a 

(105) 
And Wc 
SAMI'E 

Old Oaken Bucket." 

(IW) 

th«*'Boston lYttnsrript" edit. 

This is a lon^-established Boston sheet, and, 
doubtless, well-conducted by the poet, who, 
however, has been sometimes accused of venial 
plagiarisms. Sarge-vt is the author of" Te- 
lasoo," a tragedy, and at one time edited "The 
Standard Drama." a catch-penny republication 
of English plaj's. 

(107) 

Uix sententious WHiprLB, 

Edwin P. Whipple is a yonng man. who, by 
dint of industry and tolerable imitative powers, 
has beoome a sort of Boston .Macaul.'ty; writes 
essays, and lectures. 

(lOS) 

ait lA* yoesjf this sid^ o/ th^ Katers, 

It was asserted by a British Review that 

EVEKSOX was the only true American poet 

(109:» 

JVwn* Rixtiy XountaiMS to the far PaciAe. 

For a succinct account of this marvellona 

leap, ride Hirst's "Cowing of the Mammoth." 

oioi 

tissert-ieid. 

A Willifl-ian license. 

(Ill) 

Ami snrt Khen Pkk.vticb 

George D. Prent-ice. editor of the Louisville 
Journal, has written some fine fragmentary 
poems, which, as " specimen bricks," make U3 
mourn forthesymmetrio temple— to which they 
are not the index. 

(112) 

AHd Mir* Khen Gallagher 

W. D. Gallagher Is a Washington clerk now ; 
when an editor, he wrote tolerable poetry. 

(113) 

Xot ervH CntvERS 

Tho*. n. Chivera, M. D.. of Georgia, hat 
written some go<>d rhymes, but is haunted by 
dead poets, and passes his life in an insane at- 
tempt to prove that Pmb gained his rep 
by plagiariiiug rtvm Coiteks. Let the doctor 
leave logic, and try to »Tfit« poetry, whieh 
more tus /orfe than erttioism. 




Poetical Works. 




ititiftst ?^tsthrg. 






Vv, 



-=8: 



i 

II 



""m 



Duganne. 






I 



planus d£ Ifit fitn!) 

ra^D in ^ciit iattlcs iltli, 

ani to all tf)t tafltss 5.i6ins, 

Suffttins still, anlr still {orsibina, 

SatrtJr it 

ffiSijat f)«e is sailr: 

g[s a tntmors of t^c Past, 

®o i^t SSiAnoSnn jFuturt tast, 

(Ectaiit, 

© (Sol! 

5ts mtsitinss Jast. 





Poetical Works. 



^^ 



JlBanifat ^psHng. 



A WAR ECLOGUE. 



" OUH COUOTBT— KiaHT OR WRONG 1"— DeCATOR. 




TRUMPET-SONC. 

AEK ! 'tis the battle peal ! 

The foe hath crossed our borders : 
The dogs who wait at our country's gate 
"Would slay its valiant warders. 
Brave hearts, prepare you ! 
The foes who dare you 
Are bold and strong ! 

But, war to the proud oppressor ! — 

"War to the rude aggressor ! 
Our Countiy ! may she ne'er be wi'oug ! — 
And while she's right, God bless her ! 



MHT 





Duganne. 

MANIFEST DESTINY. 

Chant ye, in battle's hour, 

The Alamo's bloodj^ story. 
Of Goliad's day, and Bexar's fi-ay, 
And wild Jacinto's glory ! 
Their souls shall lead you 
Whose blood has freed you — 
A glorious throng ! 
Then war to the proud oppressor ! 
War to the rude aggressor ! 
Our Countiy ! may she ne'er be wrong !- 
And while she's right, God bless her ! 



II. 

THE RUBICON. 




It were a glorious strife to guard 
The ramparts of our land — 
And at her portals stand, 
Hurling back the invading hordes ; 
But to stain our patriot swords 

With the blood of those who never 

Raised the hostile hand. 
Save in Freedom's bold endeavor, 
Foreign foemen to withstand, — 
Is but lust, and wrong, and crime- 
Branding us to endless time. 
ii6 




Poetical Works. 



MAMFKST DESTINY. 

And they are mad who counsel now 

The fettei-s and the steel, 

Our triumph dark to seal : 
Better far the olive-^vi-eath 
Offer now, than flames and death. 
Pause, ye rash, unthinking zealots ! 

Ere ye rivet chains ! 
Freedom brooks nor kings nor helots — 

Crowns and whips alike disdains. 
Better now in glory pause, 
Than to break great Freedom's laws ! 

Christian men ! who lift your hearts 
To Heaven, this day, in prayer — 
And lay your conscience bare, — 
Know YE not, that "War and Wrong 
Can never make your temples strong? 
Know ye not that blood and battles 

Are not from the Lord ? 
Sei-ve ye God's great laws, or Vattel's? 

Bear ye gospels, or the sword ? 
Lo ! on high the record stands — 
Ye, like Pilate, wash your hands ! 




■^^ 






Duganne. 

UAXIKEST DESTINY. 
III. 

TRIUMPH. 

Destiny! Destiny! 
Warder ! look forth ! sound now the warning cry — 

Give the alarum-word ! 
Lo I the Destroyer of the Free draws nigh : 
Swings the dread balance midway from on high — 

The wall with fii-e is scored : 

Ambition whets his sword ! 

"War! war! war! 
What says this Christian nation to the world ? 

Earth with our threats is rife : 
Heaven hath beheld our crimson flag unfurled — 
In flaming wrath our armies have been hurled 

Against a nation's life ! 

War to the bloody knife ! 

Eaise ye your psean loud 
For the man-slayers ! Crown the crimson brows 

Of your wild hero crowd 
With mural diadems ! Arouse — arouse ! 
Come from your wheels, your altars, and your ploughs ; 

Come ye whom toil has bowed — 

Hail ye those warriors proud I 

Hail ye those hearts of flame ! 
And twine your flow'rs, and weave your garlands bright, 
And peal each warrior's name : 
228 






Poetical Works. 



MANIFEST DESTINY. 

They have held Christian throats in murderous tight ; 

They have spread fire, and pestilence, and blight ; 
They have sown death and shame : 
Eear ye the arch of Fame ! 

Slaves of the South — arise ! 
Clang ye your gyves, to swell the cj-mbals' sound — 

Lift your exulting eyes ! 
Lo ! your white masters have new victims found — 
Comrades ye have — in war's red bondage bound : 
Ye shall hear answering cries, 
Swelling your gasping sighs. 

Wbite slaves of Northern gold ! 
Build ye a Teocalli — where the foes 

Of our ambition bold 
May writhe beneath our Anglo-Saxon blows. 
And shriek their curses in exinring throes — 

Curses that shall be told 

Till Eternity is old.' 

Destiny ! Destiny ! 
Lo ! 'tis our mission to pour out the tide 

Of our heaii-blood, and die, 
"With foeman's corse stretched ghastly by our side ; 
Or live and trample him in vengeful pride : 

This is our mission high — 

Gospel of Liberty ! 
229 




Duganne. 



ilAXIFEST DESTINY. 



We preacli great Freedom's creed ? 
We ? with our heels upon the writhing necks 

Of millions yet wnfreed, 
Whose gasping prayei-s the soul of Justice vex ? 
"We ! who upon a crumbling nation's wrecks 

"Would build a pyramid 

Where millions more might bleed ? 

Sparta-like, would we found 
A Helotage ? — ^Eome-like, usuip the sway 
Of a world in slaveiy bound ? 
Lo I in their might those wrongs were swept away ! 
"What shall be our palladium fi-om decay, 

When Rome, with triumph crown' d, 
FeU, crumbling, to the ground ? 

Destiny ! Destiny ! 
Hark ! the slain Prophets warn us from above — 

The Past uplifts its cry ! 
Tame ye the Eagle ! send ye forth the Dove ! 
Land of my heart, my life, my home, my love ! 

Cast not God's warning by — 

Preach thou trve libertv! 







Poetical Works. 



UANirKST DESTINY. 
IV. 

lO PCEAN. 

Ho ! ye who lit j'our triumph fii'es, 

And waved your thousaud bauuei-s — 
Wlien brothers, husbands, sons, and sires. 

Met on the south savannas ! — 
When human blood like water ran, 

And men sank do'W'n like cattle. 
From Palo Alto's bloody van 

To Churubusco's battle ! 

Ho ! ye who hailed each victory 

With cannon salutations, 
And dazzled mountain, plain, and sea, 

With grand illuminations, — 
Lo ! Mexico hath bent the knee — 

Her grief and pain she stifles: 
Ye 've manifested Destiny — 

With Anglo-Saxon rifles ! 

Peace is proclaimed ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! 

Our valorous Yankee nation 
Has whipped the Mexic mongrel, fiir 

Beyond all calculation. 
Two hundred millions dollars lost — 

A thousand score of fighters ; 
A bloody page in history's crost, 

With bloody men for Nvritei-s. 

^3' 



t 






[ss^^-^ 



Duganne. 

UAKIFEST DESTDTT. 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! at least je've laid 

In dust the Mesic forces — 
Orphans and wido^^vs ye have made, 

And sixty thousand corses ! 
And Mexico's partitioned, too — 

Her highland from her lowland 
Oh ! brave kepublicans are you — 

As Eussians were — ^in Poland ! 



0, ye who in our pulpits praised 

The Lord for battle's glories — 
And ye who swore that peace disgraced. 

And peace-men were but tories, — 
Light tapers now ! — illuminate ! 

Let trump and cannon mingle ! — 
Till every heart shall palpitate, 

And eveiy ear shall tingle. 

Te've conquered Mexico ! 'Twas bold ! 

The war will surely cease now — 
Li part by blood, in part by gold, 

Ye've gained (we thank you) peace now. 
10 TRiusiPHE ! Homeward come 

Those who in camp were quartered ; 
Save — twenty thousand dead and dumb. 

By ball and fever slaughtered. 




Poetical Works. 



DFSTINT. 




^^ 10— O— 10 ! Sound the trump ! 

iij\ The Mexic war is ended : — 

Moloch has gulped a heavy lump, 
And gold the gap has mended. 
A five-act tragedy, fair sirs, 

We've had for us enacted ! 
May God forgive the managers, 
TVTio for this play contracted ! 



V. 
INDEMNITY. 

I wandered forth, a dreamer lone. 
While wintry winds around me whistled ; 
And from the boughs where once they nestled, 

Bird and bee were flown. 
And to my side there crept a child. 
With azure ej^es and features mild. 

And sunny Saxon hair — 
But tangled was that hair, and wild, 

As if it knew no mother's care — 
That desolate young child ! 

I stooped me down, and gently drew 
The trembler to my melting bosom ; 
And wondered where so fair a blossom 

In life's sad desert grew. 

=4-^ ■ 





Duganne. 

MANIFEST DESTINY. 

But tliougl^ with accents soft and low, 
And tears that spite of me would flow, 

I questioned of his home — 
He only murmured " Let me go ! 
" For Pa-pa's killed in Mexico, 

"And ma-ma's dead at home !" 

I clasped his little hand, and tried 
To win the heart so wildly heaving. 
And soothe the passion of his grieving ; 

But still he wept and sighed. 
And though his eyes of mystic hlue. 
Like sunny rain, upon me threw 

A radiancy of gloom, — 
He only murmui'ed — " Let me go ! 
"For Pa^pa's killed in Mexico, 

"And Ma-ma's dead at home !" 




f I 



Poetical Works. , 




C|e ^aikit of tijc ^^ick 



^.( 



i 



-3=- 



-=D: 




Duganne. 




The Gentle Eva: 

(IN WHOSE PLEASANT COMPANY IT WAS WRIT,) 
IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED. 





)^§3=- 



Poetical Works. 



-^ 



^$F InCaibpn of f^f ^^\M. 



PART FIRST. 

I6IIT hung darkly over the moiuitain, 
over the forest and the dale; 
Dim and ghostly from the heavcna 
look'd the moon so thin and pale — 
Like the white face of a mourner from her 
thick and sable veil. 

On the gray and misty mountain-brow a cloudy 

mantle hung, 
Over the storm-king's giant shoulders, as he rose from 

slumber, flung; 
And its fringe of gloom descended all the shrouded 

vales among. 

:Q=" 




=^ 



^^^S)Sh^ Duganne. ^^^sQ(^J 

THE JIAIDEX OF THE SHIELD. /( 

There was sound of mirth and revel in the Max- ( 
well's castle-hall : > 

Mirth of warriors met for wassail, whilst mthout, ) 
upon the wall, 

"Watch and ward kept ancient Donald Bane, the 
stalwart seneschal. 



Stout and trusty man was Donald Bane ; — at N"aseby 

had he bled, 
And at "Wor'ster, where, with Scottish blood, the Saxon 

soil grew red ; 
Sturdily strode he now the rampai-ts, with a measured 

martial tread. 

Through the gleaming turret casements Donald looked 

with longing peer, 
"Whence the sound of harp and pibroch broke hj times 

upon his ear : 
Clink of goblet, clash of trencher, could the sturdy 

yeoman hear. 

Gloomily round the frotvTiing turrets, and within the 

shattered fosse. 
Giant shadows oft like phantoms would the soldier's 

vision cross — ]> 

Shapes that angrily toward Heaven seemed their cloudy 

arms to toss. 




Poetical Works. ^-^^ 



a 



THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. 

^f Slowly strode the stalwart seneschal, with gauntlet on 

his sword ; 
Whilst within, in joyous revel, sat the castle's noble 

lord ; 
And a score of valiant chieftains clinked their goblets 

at his board. 



There was wild Sir Duncan Carisbrooke, with matted 

elfin hair ; 
Stout Athlone, and winsome Umfraville, and reckless 

Ranaldmair ; 
And Lord Clavers, false and cruel, with a face like 

angel fair. 

Many a shield, with dinted bosses, hung within that 
banquet-hall ; 

Drooped full many a lordly banner from the lofty tur- 
ret wall : 

But the shield and flag of Clavers hung the highest of 
them all. 

For with fire and steel from Stirling gates had Clavers 

ridden forth. 
With his lips compressed, his forehead dark, his 

haughty spirit wroth ; 
And he swore to mark with foot of flame his pathway 
jl to the north. 

f,^_ ■" ^Jk 



4^ THE 51AIDES OF THE SHIELD. "■ ? 

Not like Scotia's sons of oldea time, to qvicll tlie boast- 
ing Dane, 

Or to drive the daring Southron far from Bens^ick's 
castled plain ; 

For this man had bared his broadsword, Scotia's noblest 
blood to di-ain. 



Xoblest blood for aye, and priceless, that which fires 

the patriot's veins, 
Be he prince or be he peasant, who the truth of God 

maintains : 
Seed-like falls the blood of mart^-rs — ^harvesting the 

Future's plains ! 

Breathing vengeance rode Lord Clavers, with his soul 

as dark as night ; 
And beside him Jamie Turner — red with many a gory 

fight; 
And the fierce and fi-antic DallzeU, with his beard of 

silver white. 

Rode they forth ^vith lauce and banner, rode they forth 
with steel and brand. 

And they swore to make a desert of the pleasant Scot- 
tish land, 

And to slay, at hearth and altar, all the Covenantkbs' 
band. 

140 



^^ 






Poetical Works. 

TUK MaIDKX of TUE SHIELD. ^ 



PART SECOND. 



When the clouds were darkest, dreariest, over castle 

wall and tower — 
Wlien the goblet clink grew loudest, at the solemn 

midnight hour — 
Then arose fiiir Annie Maxwell : hied she, trembling, 

from her bower. 

Through the postern stole the maiden ; shrill and 

fiercer moaned the blast ; 
Hied she forth amid the tempest, and the shadows 

dark and vast; 
Donald paced the castle ramparts, but he wist not who 

had passed. 

Like a phantom through the midnight fled the Max- 
well's daughter fair; 

Loosely streamed the silken fillet that entwined her 
cloudy hair ; 

Backward waved her plaid and tresses, fluttering wildly 
on the air. 

24" Q ^,(i 




Duganne. 



THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. 



^ Whither jlies fair Auuie Maxwell, 'mid the tempest 
fierce aud wild ? 
Wherefore seeks she now the mouutain, where the 

stormy clouds are piled ? 
Wherefore thus, through mist aud darkness, flees the 
castle's winsome child ? 

She hath heard the oath of Clavers, at her father's 

festal board ; 
She hath heard his fiery troopers clash their sabres at 

the word ; 
Aud she knows that through high Ben Venu they ride 

with fii'e aud sword. 

And fair Annie hath a true love — brave aud loyal 

yoiith is he — 
AVho hath sworn to guard the Covenant as loug as life 

shall be ; 
And who roams the hills an outlaw — praisiug God 

that he is free ! 

'Tis to save the brave young Ronald — 'tis to warn him 

of his foes, 
That the castle's Aviusome daughter from her maiden 

couch uprose. 
Brave and loving Annie Maxwell ! purer than the 



Hiehlaud snows ! <£) 

242 



p^kS^'T!^— 



Poetical Works. 

THE MAIDEN OP THE SHIELD. 

^p Up the mountain-path, with weary feet, the gentle ^ 
J maiden pressed, 

I With her white hand fluttering dovelike ou her wildly- 
heaving breast; — 
Far above frowned Ben Venii, with storm and cloud 
upon his crest. 

'Gainst the darkness pressed her forehead, as the 
mountain-path she clomb ; 

And the whiteness of that forehead seemed a snow- 
wreath on the gloom ; 

While her hair rolled darkly backward, like a billow 
from its foam. 

Heaven smiles on high endeavor! Lo! the tempest 

sank away, 
And a star looked from the darkness, with a sweet 

and placid ray : 
On the turf, amid the shadows, knelt the maiden down 

to pray. 



Rose the clouds, like lifted curtains, over mountain, 

glen, and glade — 
While the moonlight gushed adown the rocks — an 

echoless cascade ; 
And within it, like a peri, dripping silver, stood the 

maid. 

243 




Duganne. 

THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. rj^jj 

^ Over her boddice gleamed tlie raindops, in a net of 

jewel lie; 
And a lustre hemmed her garments, as they floated 

light and free ; 
And her midnight hair grew golden, like a gloiy on 

the sea. 

Glanced her white" feet in the moonbeam, as with 
silver sandals dight, 

"While the dewdrops glittered fi'om them, in a spray 
of diamonds bright ; 

And a mist clung round her garments, as on angel- 
wings the light. 

Like an angel, kneeling, praying, on that silent moun- 
tain-height. 

With the moonbeams gushing o'er her, in a flood of 
liquid light : 

Sure no fairer, holier presence ever greeted mortal 
sight ! 

For her heart was lifted upward, and thi'ough all its 

wondrous cells 
Floated strange, mysterious melody, in cadences and 

swells. 
As if all the air were tinkling with the thrill of 

crystal bells. 

244 ^(? 





Poetical Works. 



THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. 




Smiled the moonbeams from the heavens, and the 

earth, with fragrant thanks, (^ 

Lifted up her perfumed ofFeriugs from a thousand ) 
flowery banks. 

Where the dripping blades of heather softly bowed 
their glittering ranks ; — 

From the beds of mountain-violets, from bowers of 

clustering vines. 
Where the honeysuckle's crimson cup the jessamine 

entwines ; 
And where Scotia's drooping bluebell in its modest 

glory shines. 

Then the maiden's pulses fainted, as if spelled by 

witching art. 
While the perfume, soft as lover's breathing, kissed 

her lips apart. 
And the zephyr's fairy fingers touched the key-notes 

of her heart. 

Thus she prayed amid the loneliness of forest, mount, 

and stream — 
And the shadows melted round her, like the darkness 

of a dream. 
Oh! in truth, fair Annie Maxwell did a blessed angel U 



(g/®^^" 





Duganne. 

THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. 

ye might have marked the dawning of her softly- 
glowing face, 

As a roseleaf through a lily made transparent we 
should trace — 

Or an inner light outbreaking from an alabaster 
vase. 

Thus she prayed amid the moonlight, and she mur- 
mured, "Ronald, dear!" 

But she heard not from the mountain-path a lightsome 
foot draw near — 

Till a voice, in well-known music, whispered, "Annie, 
I am here !" 



PART THIRD. 



Morning breaks in blue o'er Ben Venu — the morning 

of our Lord ; 
And a hundred plaided warriors kneel in prayer upon 

the sward. 
And the songs of outlawed Christians rise in beautiful 

accord. 

246 





y^-^ Poetical Works. ^,^5^^f 

i/j h THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD, (TRi 

a/^ Songs of loud and vehement triumph — roHing round ^l,^ 
I the cavernous hills ; 

Higher and higher the hymn sonorous through each 

echoing chasm thrills : 
High and higher the resonant chorus all the arch- 
ing heaven fills. 



Here no pomp of man's cathedrals, pillared shrine nor 
sounding aisle — 

Here no frescoed roof, no sculptured stone, no gold- 
emblazoned pile, — 

But a towering clifl:' the altai', and the church a dim 
defile. 

Columned from the rocks basaltic — towering higher 
than man might climb — 

Base, and capital, and architrave, existent from all 
time ; 

And the blue of heaven o'erarchiug in a canopy sub- 
lime. 

And with flowers the aisles were tesselate — with flow- 
ers and shining grass ; 

And the vines, festooned and draperied, drooped in 
many a twining mass ; 

And the gateway of this temple was a narrow moun- 
tain-pass. 

247 



MST 





Duganne 

[ELD. j-^H 

t 



THE MAIDEN OP THE SHIELD. j-^( 

and hollowed from tlie rocky walls that cu'cled 

half the scene — 
Steep and perilously descending, whilst a chasm 

yawned between: 
Fearful passway for the invader seemed this dangerous 

ravine. 

For a score of men might battle here against a count- 
less host, 

Scattering foes as waves are shivered on Lochcai-ron's 
rocky coast; — 

Such a wild Thermopylae this as onlj^ Scotia's land 
may boast. 

Loud and bold, and echoing gi-andly, swell the Cove- 
nanters' songs — 

Far and near each vale resoundingly the rolling strain 
prolongs ; 

And the vaulted caverns tremble as ^vith clang of 
martial gongs. 

Rolling, deepening, sinking, muttering — faint and 

fainter falls the sound. 
Till the last thin note dissolveth in the valley-deeps 

profound : 
Then a silence, as of midnight, suddenly creepeth all 

around. 

248 






Poetical Works. 

THE MAIIIKN OF THK SUIELl). 

Sileuce, deep aud husli'd as miduight, broken only by 
the clamp, 

As of coursers' hoofs descending o'er the rocks with 
sullen tramp, 

And the hollow mountain-echoes, answering each re- 
sounding stamp. 

Brief aud low the benediction — while the warrior- 
preacher's ken 

Swept afar the mountain-passes and the openings of 
the glen : 

Then a clash of targe and claymore rudely spake the 
stern "Amen !" 

Vanished from the rocks and gorges who but now had 

knelt in prayer — 
Sire and child, and youth aud maiden — gone, as if 

enwrapped in air; 
Gone and vanished from the temple — stalwait men 

and women fair. 

Yet nor flying they nor fearsome. Lo! around that 
temple wide — 

Hidden within the cloven caverns and the beds of tor- 
rents dried — 

Still they kneel, and mutely worship, in the craggy 
mountain's side. 



Jk 






^3= °"S^°"'' ^ 

4i THE MAIDEX OP TBE SHIELD. "f? 



PART FOURTH. 



Out of the heavens, briglit and beautiful, the shower- 
ing sunlight falls — 

As vrith golden garments robing cliff, and rock, and 
craggy walls ; 

Building piles of hazy glory, glittering towers and 
shining halls. 

Calm and beautiful is the landscape, with the sunlight 

smiling o'er; — 
All is silent, save the turbulence of some cataract's 

angry roar. 
As it surges dull and heavily on Loch Achray's cloudy 

shore. 

And amid the blessed calmness, and beneath the sun- 
beam mild — 

While around, in awful loneliness, the mountain walls 
are piled — 

Kneels the Covenanter Ronald, with the Maxwell's 
bonnie child. 



-L 



-^^ 



)?&=- 



Poetical Works. 



-¥ 



TTHE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. t^P 

Yawning fearfully before them, glooms a -wide and ( 

,. darksome chasm, 
Whence the rocks were riven, ages since, by some tre- 
mendous spasm ; 
Silent kneel the youth and maiden, hushed with liigh 
enthusiasm. 



Over the chasm, dizzily spanning, poised upon the 

perilous clifts, 
Lo ! a bridge of sycamores springing, high its gnarled 

form uplifts — 
Fearful causeway, hea\aly swinging, o'er the terrible 

mountain rifts. 



Long and wearily through the night had Konald 

marked the changing skies — 
Long and wearily watching, listening, lest the foemen 

might surprise : 
Sentinel' d here, the bridge before him — bridge and 

chasm before his eyes. 



Long and wearily 'mid the tempest, through the awful 

gloom of night, 
"Watch had Ronald held unfaltering, on that lonely 

mountain height, 
'Till the stars and Annie Maxwell shone at once upon 

his sight. 

^5' 



m^ 




QSL^ Duganne. 




THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. 

Ifow the night and storm were vanished — and the 

scent of flowi'ets fair, • I 

Like the breath of heaven's dear angels, floated sweetly ) 

through the air ; — j 

Hand in hand, and heart to heart, the lovers breathed 

their morning prayer. ' 

Very soft was Annie's orison — like a brooklet's liquid 

tones — 
Like a low and musical brooklet, trickling o'er its 

ci'ystal stones ; 
Yet it reached her Lifinite Father, bending from His 

throne of thrones. 

Far above the kneeling lovers — swelling forth in 

golden thrills, 
EoUing grandly down the passes — echoed sweetly 

thi'ough the hills. 
Hark! the hymn of Martin Luther all the raptured 

mountain fills ! 

Hymn of prayer and pi'aise triumphant ! hj'mn for 

soldier-saints to sing ! ! 

List! o'er Bon Vend it broodeth, like a glorious angel's j 
wing ; ) 

And beneath its voiceful music trembletli every living 
thing. 

251 



/(g)C-»^ 




Poetical Works. 



Sr THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. j^;j 

"^ Then, auother sound comes downward — rushing 

through the mountain caves, 
Like the roar of angry water, as in chasm and tarn it 

raves, 
When the storm is gathering mightily o'er Loch 

Katrine's yesty waves. 

Upward suddenly rose young Eonald, flinging back 

his clustering locks, 
"Whilst, with gaze of eagle range, his eyes explored 

the sundered rocks. 
Whence the sound of iron hoof-beats echoed loud in 

measured shocks. 

Swooping down the mountain passes rode a hundred 
horsemen bold : 

Swaying plumes and flashing corselets— gallant troop- 
ers to behold ; 

And tlie foremost man was Claveks, with his locks of 
waving gold. 



Downward thundering, while the sun-light sheathed 
each iron form in flame : 

Faint and fearsome grew fair Annie, as the horsemen 
rushing came; 

Well she marked her sire, Lord AL\xwell, riding fore- 
most with the Graeme. ^ 




§^^^=.^ Duganne. ^^^^s^s^ 

kJL^ the maides of the shield. TiTl 

$® Loudlv roared the sunken cataracts — but the ti-oopers' ^kI 

If ' W 

M yell rose higher ; yif 

A Downward rode they, swift and heavily, every hoof- J, 

print flecked ^vith fii-e, 

Downward swooping toward the sycamore bridge, still 

do^Tiward, nio'her and nigher. 



Yet, nor faint nor fearsome Eonald: — swelled and 
throbb'd his bosom proud — 

Eesolute rose he, like an oak athwart the tempest- 
laden cloud — 

"While the lily, A^"XIE [MiSWELL, on the cliflf beneath 
him bowed. 

Towering mightily on the precipice, with its beetling 
crags o'erhung — 

And the yawning chasm before him, with the syca- 
mores o'er it flung — 

Lo! a ponderous Scottish battle-axe around his head 
he swmig. 

Flashed that war-axe in the sun-light — raised in terri- 
ble strength toward heaven — 
Circling fearfully, swift descending — like a thunderbolt 
downward di'iven : — 
V Eeel'd the bridge, and rock"d the precipice, as by light- ^ 
^^ ning fiercely riven. 






^fer 




3v3^,^^ Poetical Works. ^^<«?v( 



THK MAIDEX OF TIIF. SHIELD 




Kyt Once again — a terrible engine — surging, shivering, as 

f «.>. f 

Eeboeil the sound from wood and mountain — hoai-sely 
sank through cave and dell ; 

Then from Clavers' vengeful troopers rose a loud, dis- 
cordant yell. 

Suddenly check'd, with choking bridle, back the Max- 
well's courser reared — 

Wildly gasping, widely staring, down that pass the 
Maxwell peered ; — 

Was it the phantom of his daughter? was it wi-aith or 
vision weird? 

Bright and beautiful, like a seraph — as if scarce of 

earth a part — 
Mute and motionless, kneeling — moulded it might 

seem by sculptor's art, — 
And a shield of iron upholding, covering Eouald's 

valiant heart. 

Sturdily fell the blows of Ronald, while the maid be- 
side him kneeled — 
Never a jot their true hearts filtered — never a jot their 
spirits reeled ; 
\h Still the maid beside her lover knelt, and raised the |vf, 
M^ ponderous shield. ' 



^!^ 



f^ 



^1^-^ ^^^ 



0^ D"ganne. 

^ n THE SIAIDKX OF THE SHIELD. (I Wj, 

^ Then fi-om arquebuse and matchlock, hui-thng on that 

shield amain — 
Over the sycamores fierce^ crashing, sped the troopers' 

leaden rain, — 
Hurtling fierce upon that iron shield — stUl fiercer, hut 

in vain. 

For the vrar-axe still fell heavily — feU with wide- 
resounding clang ; 

And the echoing caverns answered, where the Cove- 
nanters sang — 

And the rocks in diapason like a mighty organ 



Darkly frowned the fan* Lord Clavers — cast he back 

his yellow hair; 
Thrice he grasped a trooper's pistol — thrice his bullet 

clove the air; — 
Ronald answered with a sturdier blow — the maiden 

with a prayer. 

Madly swore the baffled Clavers — and the Maxwell, 

raving ^vild, 
Raised his mailed hands to heaven, with impious 

curses on his child ; 
But fair Annie raised the buckler over her lover — 

and sweetly smiled. _ 



i 



^ 



^jvHr"^ ^'TsA 



Poetical Works. 



THE MAIDEN OF THE SHIELD. 



i|-j-|i Aud the troopers, wildly cursiug, saw the clift"s un- ^^ 

"f f stable ridge W 

1 Break and crumble downward heavily, 'neatli the i 

yielding timbers' edge; — 

"Well they knew that mortal footsteps nevermore might 

tread the bridsje. 



Mightily fell the blows of Eonald — fell the last, the 

giant stroke — 
Like a cross-bolt, over the precipice, down the crashing 

timbers broke — 
And a roar like mingled thnndei-s from the mountain's 

womb awoke. 

Dust and smoke and dry leaves whirling, half obscured 

the frowning height, 
Backward reeled the steeds of Clavers, rearing, 

plunging, in aifright; 
Only once again fair Annie met her stormy father's 

sight. 

Once and only — as in brightness to her lover's breast 

she clung. 
While young Ronald toward the mountain-caves with 
lightsome foot upsprung, 
]'/,j "With the iron shield and battle-axe athwart his shoul- v^ 
%|a ders flung. ^'=^ 




^^'^^^ 




Duganne. c-rv-f 



THE UAIDEX OF THE SHIELD. 



'^ But adown tlie mouutaiu gorges, aud around the 
sounding Mils, 

Once again the hvmu sonorous of the warrior- 
Chiistiaus thrills — 

Once again the resonant chorus all the arching hea- 
ven fills. 



Many a maid in honnie Scotland, on the mountain- 
sward hath kneeled — 

Many a brave and loyal soldier fought on Freedom's 
glorious field ; 

But no nobler souls than Eoxald aud the ^Maiden of 
THE Shield. 





Poetical Works. 



f 



>^ti 




Cfetl 



itman ffltart. 



1 



-==8' 



^^- 



Duganne. 



1 



--^mwrn 



AND 

Sops of the Fv.tv.rc 



THESE 



AEE INSCRIBED. 



Mi 




^^^ 



c^ 




m 



T 



Poetical Works. 



^fp IJuniBn Ijparf, 



THE HOME OF SONG. 



HERE is the Home of Song? 

Tell me, tuneful soul ! 
Where do the harmonies royally throng? 
"^Hiere do the symphonies, swooning along, 

Rivers of music roll ? 

MINNIE-SINGER ; 

Where the wide hill-sides glow, 

Purple with clustering vine ; 
"Where the blue myriads of violets grow — 
Rivulets, rippling in rythmical flow, 

Run to their father Rhine. 




8=- 





'JU^_ 



D^ganne. ^^^JlSM^ 



THE HUMAN HEAET. 



TROUBADOUR: 




Wlaere the sweet austrial skies 

Sliimmei" iu goldeu rays ; 
"WTiere the low lakelet alluriugly lies, 
Wooiug the wautoiiing wind to arise, 

Liquid with love-lorn lays. 



"WTiere the wild bards of yore 

(Crown'd with the Boreal Fires) 
Chanted their songs to the resonant shore- 
BiUows of music, in runical roar, 
Surging from stormy lyres. 



E"ot with the sMes alone — 

K'ot with the ocean's roll — 
Not with the rivers, iu musical moan, 
S'ot with the zephyrs, in tremulant toue, 

Dwelleth the songful soul. 



There is but one dear Home — 
Thence we may ne'er depart; 
There do the harmonies royally come — 
There are the melodies nevermore dumb I 
Hush !— 'tis the Human Heart ! 




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Poetical Works. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 



THE DREAM OF THE TOMBSTONE. 



LIS TUN— Loye of mine ! O listen, 
"WTiile thy dewy eyelids glisten : 
Let me press thy snowy forehead 

With a lover's holy kiss. 
'Twas a dream, gentle maiden ! 
When my heart with grief was laden — 
Yet I pray that God may never 

Send a vision like to this ; 
Never plunge my dreaming spirit 

In so darksome an abyss. 

! methought in this my dreaming, 
That the icy moonlight, gleaming 
On my bosom, white and naked, 

Did its ghastliuess illume ; 
That my heart no more was beating, 
And the tide of life, retreating. 
Left me like a sculptur'd tablet, 

Like a cold and marble tomb — 
Like a column, white and solemn, 

In the ghostly graveyard's gloom. ^ 

fe3- ■ =^^ 



Rva>- 



Duganne. 

THE HUMAN HEART. 

Love of mine ! oli ! press me nearer- 
Let mine eyes thy love-look mirror — 
Let me feel thy heart's low beating 

Fondly echoing mine own ; 
Give my heart the blest assurance 
That my dreaming soul's endurance 
"Was a phantom of the midnight, 

From the holy morning flown ; 
Let thy murmured blessing tell me 

Thou art mine, and mine alone ! 



Coldly streamed the moonbeam o'er me, 
And a new-made grave before me 
Lay, in loneliness and silence, 

With its withered flow'rets spread, 
And a myrtle wreath was braided 
Eound the willow, shrunk and faded, 
That, with melancholy motion. 

Waved above the grassy bed ; 
Like a solemn priest at midnight, 

Swinffina: censers o'er the dead! 



Then methought that, foir and beaming, 
Thou didst come, in radiant seeming. 
From the shadowy groups of cypress 
That around the church-yard grew; 
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THE HUMAN HEART. 



But another's arm was round thee, 
And another's love had bound thee ; 
And to him who loved thee only 

Was thy soul no longer true ! 
Then I felt my heart was breaking 

As to me ye nearer drew. 

Clasp me closer, loved and dearest ! 
'Tis a dream that now thou hearest, 
Yet my heart with fear is trembling 

As its memory I recall ! 
Though thine eyes are on me shining — 
Though thine arms my neck are twining, 
And thy murmured words of blessing 

On my heart like music fall, 
Yet the memory of that vision 

Shrouds me like an icy pall. 

Thou and he whose arm upheld thee. 
Thou and he whose love had spelled thee. 
Stood together in the moonlight 

That revealed my marble breast — 
And, with lips that faltered never. 
Thou didst swear to love forever 
Him who stood in pride beside thee, 

With his arms around thee prest; 
"^Hiile beneath, all cold and silent. 

Lay the one who loved thee best. 
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Duganne. 

THE BUUAS HEAET. 

Love of mine ! tMs di-eam of terror, 
God be thanked! is nauglit but error; 
Yet its memory oft hatb darkened, 

Like a cloud, my sunny heart; 
For its phantom thoughts betoken 
How that heart, all crushed and broken, 
"Would be like the marble tombstone. 

Should thy gentle love depart — 
And the cypress round my myrtle 

From the grave of hope would start ! 




MEMORIES. 




A T times there falls across my heart 

A beam of memory's golden light ; 
And mote-like fancies float and dart. 

And glisten through that medium bright ; 
Till even the dust, that covei-s o'er 
The hopes and fantasies of j'ore, 

A silveiy veil appears, 
Beneath which gleam in life once more 

The joys of other yeai-s. 




®\^Q)Qq Poetical Works 




TUE HUMAN HRART. 



But even like one with failing feet, 

Who travels many a weary mile, 
And plucks at times some flow'ret sweet, 

Or marks a transient sunl^eani smile ; 
Then on some hill his footsteps staj's, 
And calmly through the twilight haze 

Reviews his devious track, — 
So now mj soul the Past sui-veys, 

But is not tempted back. 




LOVING HEARTS. 

TELL me not the world is dark, 
With shadows lengthening to the tomb ! 

Mine eyes would rather fondly mark 
Where sunlight flashes through the gloom. 

And I would fain in error dwell, 

If truth such darksome lore imparts, 

And rather die than e'er dispel 
My dream of Lo^^ng Hearts. 

Their perfume would forsake the flowers, 
The golden hues of summer fade ; 

The hush'd birds droop, in withered bowers, 
And sunny brooklets sink to shade, — 
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Duganne. 

THE HUUAX HEART. 

And o'er the soul of living things 

"Would fall the gloom that ne'er departs, 
K from our bright imaginings 

"Were banished Loving Hearts. 

They are around us and above — 
Half-hidden, as in wild-wood leaves 

Close nestles some white-breasted dove : 
And he is happy who believes 

That they are living, though unseen, 
Like light, ere from the cloud it starts,— 

And he is truly blest, I ween, 

Who loves those Loving Hearts ! 




#. 



MIDNIGHT IN THE CHURCH-YARD. 

TWELVE 6" clock ! the night-cock croweth, 

Croweth long and loud ; 
And I do feel my spirit sink. 

And my heart within me bowed. 



Through the night have I been listening, 
"Wearily through the night — 

To the sounds Avithin the old church-yard. 
That sleepcth in my sight. 
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THE HUMAN HEAHT. 

Shining clown upon the tombstones, 
Falleth the white moon-beam, 

And silvereth all the darksome graves 
With a bright and quiet gleam ; — 

And I do think, as mine eyes behold it. 
That love, like the moon-beam bright,' 

Can clothe the dark and frightful grave 
With a mantle of silver lisrht. 



"-^?©: 



Round and about, among the tombstones, 

Glide the dark shades afar — 
Like evil thoughts, that fly away 

When shineth the pure love-star! 

The lonely willow-trees are bending, 

Sorrowful over the graves — 
And the stars, above in heaven, shine 

Throuffh each one as it waves. 



And thus, when sorrow's willow beudeth, 

Over us sad and dark. 
If we but look through the leaves above, 

The beautiful stars we nrark ! 

It is well for me to gaze, at midnight. 

Into the church-yai'd old, 
Where the mounds of the long-departed 

Sleep in the moonbeam cold : — 
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Duganne. 

THE HUMAX HEART. 

For there eometh to my soul a lesson, 
And when I have learned it well, 

The weariness goes from off my heart, 
Like the ffloom where the moonbeam fell 




VESPERS. 




I SIT beneath the oriel porch. 

That looketh toward the western sky. 
And watch, while Eve, the shepherdess, 

Her white flocks hurries by: 
And watch the truant cloudlets stray 

Far off, upon the azure deeps. 
To lose themselves amid the stars, 

That troop adown the steeps. 
Poor little lambkins of the air ! 

White-fleeced like Innocence below, — 
That, yearning still for brighter paths, 
Too oft astray will go ! 

The blessed Kight comes down to me. 
And nun-like chants her solemn prayers ; 

The stars she conuteth, as her beads. 
The moon upon her bosom beai*3 — 

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A 



THE HUMAN HEART. 

A white and holy scapular — 
Beneath whose crescent rim afar 
The azure secret of the skies, 
In wondrous quiet, lies. 
Moon ! Stars ! silent Night ! 
M}^ teachers, as my theme, are ye : 
Fair missals for my faith to read — 
My hope's dear rosarj'. 




THE RECOMPENSE. 



THROUGH the mazy market-place 
A gentle Poet thrid his way ; 

Sad yet beauteous was his face — 
Sad yet sweet his lay. 

In the people's eyes looked he, 

(As he would read each stranger heart,) 
While his song so solemnly 

Talked with each apart. 

"Silver have I none," he said — 

" Nor golden store have I," quoth he; 

Thus he sung as on he sped. 
Harping solemnly. 
271 




Duganne. 



THE HCMAJ; HEART. 

Then tlie people knelt them down, 

With golden gifts and jewels rare- 
Bringing for his brow a crown, 
Woven of flowerets fan-. 



^'^Sz 



But the Poet's harp no more 

With silver singing gently thrilled, 

And his voice, so sweet before, 
Evermore was stilled. 

Eor the jewels and the gold 

Were broidered on his shroud, (they say,) 
And upon his bosom cold, 

Withering flowerets lay. 



A FANTASIE. 



I SIT beside my gentle one: 

Her hand is laid in mine ; 
And thus we watch the parting sun 

In golden haze decline. 
Across the fields the shadows creep. 

And up the misty hill ; 
And we our twilight vigils keep, 

At our own cottage-sill. 



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Poetical Works. 

THE HUMAN HEART. 

The distant brooklet's murmurs come, 

Like bell-notes througli the leaves ; 
And manj^ an insect's mazy hum 

Its dreamy music weaves. 
The dove's last note, in rippling beats, 

Upon the air departs ; 
The breath of all our garden sweets 

Is creeping to our hearts. 




The russet woodbine round our porch, 
In clustering ringlets twines ; 

The honeysuckle's crimson torch 
Gleams through the dusky vines ; 

The sunset rays are trembling now 
Amid the trellis-bars — 

They paint upon my darling's brow 
A glory like the stars. 






Her cheek is nestling on my breast. 

Her eyes are bright with tears ; 
A prayer, half-breathed and half-represt, 

My listening spirit hears. 
Oh ! blessed be the changeless love 

That glorities my life ! 
All doubt, all fear, all guile above — 

My own true-hearted wife ! 






Dueanne. 

THE HCMAX HEART. 

SPIRIT-LIFE. 

IN the lone and silent midniglit — 

Wlien the stars, from darkness creeping, 
One by one, like blessed beacons, 

Sentinel our sleeping, — 
Then I feel witliin my spirit 

Breathings of a purer life — 
Voices of an inward music, 

Calming outward strife. 

Light breaks in upon my slumber — 

Light of more than earthly gladness ; 
Low and sweet come many whispei-s. 

Soft with heavenlj- sadness ; 
And around me, mute and saint-like, 

Forms, in love and wisdom bright. 
Move through air with shadowy footsteps, 

Smile with eyes of light. 

Each hath sorrow in its featiu'es, 

Yet a high and holy meekness — 
Each hath soul within its glances, 

Conquering mortal weakness ; 
Each fair form, that foUoweth slowly, 

Eaii'er seems than that befor 
Less of dull and earthly seeming. 

And of heaven more. 

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THE HCUAX HEART. 






Aud as each one toward me turneth, 

w 

V^ In its mystic features trembling 

Sliiues a blessed soul transfigured, 

My own soul resembling ; 
And, with tearful reverence viewing 

That of which my soul is part. 
Listening to the •ternal future, 

Bends my earthly heart. 





SPIRIT-LOVE. 



TELL me, ye who long have threaded 
All the mazes of the heaii ! 

Are not life and death still wedded — 
Each of each a part ? 

Once a gentle form before me 

Shed a light around my soul ; 
Holy eyes were bending o'er me, 

Music through my spirit stole. 
Once my inmost life was plighted 

Fondly with a saint on earth, 
Like two music notes united — 

Ifotes that sever in their birth. 





Duganne. 

THE HCSiAN HEART. 

Yet uot severed we, though parted, 

Still, iu truth, our souls are oue ; 
Though on earth the geutle-hearted 

Hath her hlessed mission done. 
Still, for me in sweet communion, 

Lives the form that seemeth dead. 
Love was ouce our chain of union, 

Still with love our souls are wed. 



-=l-^. 



In the spirit's tranquil vesper. 

When the praj-er of love ascends, 
Comes a soft, responsive whisper — 

With mv voiceless musing blends. 
Then, as earth's dim shadows faintly 

Flit, and from mine eyes depart, 
Dwells with me a presence saintly, 

Dove-like, folded near my heart. 



Tell me, then, ye spmt-seeing ! 

Is it truth the angel saith ? 
Is uot love the chain of being — 

Love the lord of death ? 




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Poetical Works. 



THE HUMAN HEABT. 



SEEMINGS. 

IN the earth's womb all loveliness cloth gi'ow ! 

So low estate may garb the trusting soul 
"With beauty pure as the immortals know. 

Who reads his heart first learueth self-control ; 

And deemeth that which multitudes extol 
As all too mean to chain his lightest thought. 
Behold ! how glorious are the hues cnwrought 
Upon the rainbow's web ! — ^}-et arc thoy naught 
But exhalations from the fens o'erfraught 

With stagnant dews, and but reflect the glow 

Of that which will destroy them ! Even so 

Are man's idolatries but mocking show; 

They taint the air which they invade below, 
And, tried by higher light, a borrowed radiance throw. 



FAITH IN LOVE. 

Wlioso in Love believeth, him I trust — • 
Whoso despiseth Love, suspect I must ! 
Though others' fasehood strew my heart with dust, 
Mine own clear faith shall burn beneath the crust ! 





Duganne. ^^t 



THE HUMAN HEART. 



BEN-YUSEF. 



T 



FBIENB ! tliis simple tale I would impart: — 
The wise Ben-Yusef, of the lowly heart, 
Dream'd that his son was pierced hy Azrael's dart. 
In vain El Hakim came, with leech's craft, — 
No mortal hand could pluck the fatal shaft ! 
But, lo ! as Yusef sorrowing looked above, 
A voice said, " Father !" in low tones of love ; 
While, clothed in rohes of gold and azure dyes, 
His Selim smiled on him with lustrous eyes. 
" iojV cried Yusef — " Selim hath not died ! 
" Allaii be praised ! the arrow glanced aside!" 
"Thou sayest sooth!" the radiant shape replied — 
" To deem that Azrael conquered was not well ; 
" For he thou lovest lives — 'twas Death that fell !" 

THE THREE MARIES. 



THE Virgin, the Disciple, the Eedeemed — 

The Mother, Friend, and lowly ^Magdalen ! 
In Jesu's eyes alike, through love, thej' seemed : 

Are they, then, equal ? Yea, I say. Amen ! 
Virgin' d was she all womankind above, 

Whose virgin bosom bore divinity; 
So, haply, she who sinned, yet "much did love,' 

Through love divine re-bears virginity. 

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Poetical Works. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 





LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 

LO VE is a Butterfly, lady ! 
Flitting from flower to flower — 
Pausing to sip 
Each iiectariuo lip, 
And dreaming in cveiy bower : 
But Friendship, the Dove, o'er Life's waters dark 
Ever flies home to the Heart's dear Ark. 

Love is a Nautilus, lady ! 
Trimming its tiny sail — 
Skipping in glee 
Over beauty's sea, 
And dancing with every gale : 
But Friendship, dear lady! may ue'er depart, 
Needle-like, pointing the magnet Heart. 

Love is a Gossamer, lady ! 
Floating in golden air — 
Ever astray. 
With zephyrs at play, 
And volatile eveiy where : 
But Friendship's a star in the Heart's blue sky. 
Over Gossamer — Nautilus — Butterfly ! 
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Duganne. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 



HERRE I LOVE. 



I KNO WE a littel hande : 
'Tjs y sof teste y y« laude — 
And I feele y pressure blande 

"WTiyle I syuge : 
Lylie-wliyte, aud restynge nowe, 
Lyke a rose-leafe on my browe, 
As a dove myglite fanne my browe 

"Wj^be y's winge. 
Welle I piyze, (alle baudes above,) 
Tb." deare baude of Herre I love ! 




I knowe a littel foote — 
Very connyugelye 'ts' putt 
In a dayutie littel boote, 

Wbere y bydes : 
Lyke a sbuttel y' ever flyes 
Backe and fortbe before myne eyes, 
Wea^•J'nge musyque forre myne eyes, 

As y glydes. 
Welle I piyze, (alle feete above,) 
Tb." deare foote of Herre I love ! 
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Poetical Works. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 
III. 

I kuowe a littel liarte, 

Y' y» free from courtlie arte, 

And I owue y (everie parte) 

Foi-re alle tyme: 
Ever y beates wythe musyque tone 
Ever an echoe of myne ownc, 
Ever keepynge wji;he myue owne 

Holie chime. 
"Welle I pryze, (alle liartes above,) 
Thy deare liarte of Herre I love ! 




CANZONET. 

I AM alone, my own love ! 

Thou art not near me now : 
Yet in my dreams it seems, love ! 

At thy dear feet I bow. 
Still thou art brought, in thought, love ! 

Close to my yearning heart : 
Still on thy breast I rest, love ! 

Even when far thou art. 
'Tis my soul meets and greets, love ! 

Thine, as it floats to me : 
Dost thou not feel it steal, love ! 

Softly aruear^to thee ? 



"(T^^ 





Duganne. 



THE HUMiN HEART. 



ANACREONTIQUE. 

JULIA ! I charge thee, fill for me 
A goblet of the Orient wine ! 
IS'ow Luna's yellow tresses twine 
Their gold amid the jet of thine, 
I drink, my love ! to thee. 
Ay ! — fling thy glowing arms, my girl ! 
About my neck, and lay thy brow 
Upon my bosom closely now. 
Until my breath shall fan the curl 
That wantous with my lips — 
The jealous Moon shall learn, full soon, 

Thine eyes are her echpse ! — 
Fill high ! fill high ! — or live, or die, 

I clasp thee in mine arms — 
By Heaven ! I swear, that sky and air 

Are drunken with thy charms ! 
Mj- soul is trembling on my breath — 

Oue kiss ! — and thou may'st taste it ! 
" Soft, dearest! soft !" it murmureth — 
" Take not thy lips away," it saith : 
" Taste all — but do not waste it!" 



--5SVt 





Poetical Works. 



TDE HUMAN HEAET. 



LOVE S EYES. 




LIGHT of my life ! thy glorious eyes 
Like stars above my heart arise — 
Like stars that shine in midnight skies. 

Down in my bosom's deep they beam, 
Like star-rays in some darksome stream — 
Eeflected there, mine own they seem. 

Reflected in my soul thou art — 
And thy dear eyes of me are part : 
By their pure light I read my heart. 

Before their beams, so bright and clear, 
My shadowy doubtings disappear ; 
And Hope is now where once was Fear. 

Dear Ej-es ! — do not my heart forsake ! 
Shine, like the stars within the lake — 
Shine, and the darksome shadows break ! 



MST 



2«3 





Duganne. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 



LOVE-SONG. 





I AM close beside thee, dearest ! — 

Round me are thy white arms thrown : 
'Tis my beating heart thou hearest, 

Dearest ! beating with thine own. 
Yet, ah me ! a cloud is dimming 

Thy fair soul with shadowy fears : 
And thy dark eyes now are swimming. 

Brimming, with their gushing tears. 

Tell me, dear one ! why thou mournest : 

Canst thou doiibt my love for thee ? 
Can I doubt that thou retumest 

Earnest, trusting love to me ? 
'Tis no dream, of poets' musing, 

That our mingled hearts we teach ; 
For our lives we are transfusing — 

Losing each one's soul in each. 

In the well-depths of our feeling, 

In the home of endless truth, 
"We have hushed our love's revealing — 

Sealing its eternal youth. 
Twine thine arms, my love ! around me- 

Lay thy bosom close to mine ; 
I thank God that thou hast bound me 

"Wound me, in this love of thine. 




Poetical Works 



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THE HUMAN HEAET. 



ABSENT. 




THE ruddy bridegroom of the Niglit 
Has entered to his ladye's lialls ; 

And softly, over mortal sight, 
Their nuptial curtain falls. 

I see the rosy clouds no more, 

For they were handmaids of the sun, 

That danced unto his chamber-door, 
Then vanished, one by one. 

And now the twilight hour has come; 

The tender twilight's mystic hues, 
And low winds, full of kisses dumb, 

And silver-footed dews. 
The song of birds, the breath of flowers, 

The zephyr's thrill, are greeting me, — 
Yet pass I wearily the hours — 
For — I am not with thee. 



THE NOURISHER. 



" Give me !" the earth-born cries, and from the earth 
Comes food, wherewith our mortal life hath birth : 
"Give me!" in turn cries earth, and we deny — 
A Ah ! fools ! earth feeds, too, Immortality 

^ ''' 





Duganne. 



THE HnilAN HEAET. 



--^-^S-; 



HEART-MIRRORS. 

LOVERS once in magic mii-rors 
Sought their distant loves to see — 

Calmed their fears, or woke new terrors, 
By the power of glamourie. 

Ah ! there needeth for my heing 
Magic skill nor wizard art — 

Still thy gentle form I'm seeing 
In the Mirror of my Heart. 

StiU, as Fortune (oft beguiling) 
Greets me with a honied kiss, — 

In my heart-glass, bright and smiling, 
I behold thee share my bliss. 

And when o'er my spirit lonely 
Falleth sorrow's darksome cloud. 

In that glass I see thee only 

Sad, and dark, and sorely bowed. 

Loved and loving still are we, love ! 

Mirrored are our mutual hearts : 
I in thee, and thou in me, love ! 

Till the life of both departs. 



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Poetical Works. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 



MY MISTRESSE. 



MY mistresse hath a loving lip — 
The honey-bees might cluster ou't ! 
Or, chaliced in its rosy font, 
Ambrosial kisses sip 
But, oh ! her rippling laughter falls, 

Li silver beats, serenely clear, 
Or, cooing like the wooing calls 

Of some enamored dove. 
Low broods upon my charmed ear — 
A rythm of perfect love. 




My mistresse hath a queenly eye- 
Its fringes vail, but cannot hide, 
The lustrous shafts of royal pride 
That in its darkness lie. 
But, oh ! when passion's dreamy spell 

Is trembling through her tender soul. 
And feeling's deep revealings quell 

The maiden's haughtier art. 

Ah ! then, beyond all proud control, 

O'er-swims her loving heart. 

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Duganne. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 




My mistresse laatli a forehead fail', 
Where moony lustres softly glide — 
The while, like shadows glorified. 
Her thoughts are mirrored there. 
Therein I read each tender mood — 
Therein I trace her blessed soul, 
Arrayed in radiant maidenhood. 
And shining into mine, 
As if a tranquil gloiy stole 
From out some holy shrine. 



My mistresse hath a dainty cheek, 
"Where roses bleed through melting snow ! 
How soft its touch, if I did know, 
I might not choose to speak. 
But, oh ! the light that trembles there 

When, softly on my sobbing lute. 
To daring Love's despairing prayer 
I tune the thrilling key : 
My very heart it maketh mute — 
To think she loveth me ! 




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Poetical Works. 



THE UCMAN HEART. 




THE LOST PLEIAD. 

AH! cruel one ! that sayst thy marble heart 

Can feel an inward sob ! 
More fitting mine, oppressed with bitter smart, 

Should inly throb ; 
Which thou of peace (unkind one that thou art !) 
Didst coldly rob. 

I laid at thy dear feet my laurel wreath, 

From Glory's garden won ; 
Full gladly cast I, then, my heart beneath, 

chosen one ! 
That heart which, even now, (our dear Lord seeth !) 

Is thine alone. 

But thou, who shouldst have queen'd it o'er thy mates, 

(An eagle-wedded dove !) 
And walk'd with me through Honor's starry gates, 

All scorn above, — 
How wilt thou match with less-aspiring fates 

Thy high-born love ? 





^.SL^ Duganne. ^^jiQ^J 

THE HtniAN HEART. 

Like star that drifted o'er mine upward way, 

Thy love did seem to me ; 
And all my life beneath its presence lay 

Like charmed sea ! 
Still glorious thou — but earthward aud astray : 

God pity thee ! 



A LOVING LIFE. 

LUT Love inspire thee, and thy life shall be 
A daily prayer to Heaven for sinful earth : 
For by true Love hath all true virtue birth ; 

And He, whose life was Love, shall strengthen thee. 
For Love, like perfume in the floweret's cup. 
Its balmy influence still rendereth up. 

To fill each breeze with sweetness like its own : 

Thus by our loving lives a sway is thrown 

(Even though that sway to us be all unknown) 
O'er many a wanderer in this world of guile ; 
And thus a soul may cost us but a smile ! 

Let then our Love in lo\ang deeds be shown ; 
For, as theu' fragrance lifts itself above. 

Be sure that many a heart is lifted thus by Love. 



^"^?r: 





Poetical Works. ,-~y^ 



THE HUMAN HEART. 



TO ONE DEPARTED. 



,1. 



AR T thou not near me, with thine earnest eyes, 
That weep forth sympathy ! — thy holy brow, 

Whereon such sweet imaginings do rise ? 
Art tliou not near me, when I call thee now, 
Maid of my childhood's vow ? 

Now I behold thee, with thy sorrowing smile. 
And thy deep soul, up-looking from thy face, 

"Wliile, sweetly crossed upon thy breast the while, 
Thy white hands do tJiy holy heart embrace, 
In its calm dwelling-place ! 



CRUSHED FLOWERS. 

TIT of the -w-ildered petals of a flower. 

Struck heedlessly by violent hand to earth, 

Ye may some still unrifled sweets extract. 

And breathe the past life of what now lies dead. 

So, haply, gazing on a ruined heart, 

Whose bruised leaves disclose the spoiler's touch. 

Bethink ye, if 'tis worth some trifling care 

To search for lingering perfume in the wreck, 

Nor wholly crush it by unthinking tread ! jl 

29" (jp7 

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Duganne. p 

^ THE HUMAN HEAET. H 



THE SERPENT. 

DOWN a lonesome mountain-pass, 
Toward the dim and silent vale, 
Eode a warrior clad in armor — 
. Shining helm and coat of mail. 

And the warrior's mailed hand 
On his iron bosom press'd — 

" "Woe is me !" he murmured sadly- 
" There is torture in my breast." 

For beneath his gleaming mail, 
And beneath his hauberk gay. 

Evermore a deadly serpent 
On the warrior's bosom lay. 

Down the dai'k and solemn vale, 
Where the sable river flowed. 

To the toll-gate at the ferrj-, 
Faster still the horseman rode. 

And the maiden at the gate, 
Spoke in accents sweet and low, 

Saying, " Rest thee, wearied rider : 
Farther on thou must not go !" 




-=^, 



Poetical Work.,. ^^ 

THE HUMAN HKART. 

w 



" I will take thee iu my amis, 
And my heart shall he thy rest , 

And no longer shalt thou journey, 
"With the serpent in thy hreast." 

Then she kissed the wamor's brow, 
And he felt her balmy breath : 

And the serpent gnawed no longer. 
For the maiden's name was — Death. 




THE TRUE VISION. 

HEART! that hopes, believes, and loves all things 
O Soul ! which knows not that itself exists I 

1 would the Soul were plumed mth the Heart's wings. 

To bear it from the world's enshrouding mists. 
Methinks that Love is the true vision of man. 

By which he seeth no longer " through a glass 

Darkly, but face to face." Haply we pass 
In death through loving change — whereby the ban 

Shall seem a blessing, and the veil of earth 
Fall from us, like the scales from blinded Paul, 

When that his soul awoke in its new birth, 
And he, from hating all things, loved them all ; 

So may our soul's eyes, pierced by light above, 
Rejoice in blinding Death, that leads from Hate to Love 





-=£■: 



T 



Duganne. 

THE HUMAN HEART. 

TO A DYING SISTER. 

DUAB one ! Thou diest ! 
And my crusli'd heart is mth its sorrow mute : 
Its sighs alone may sjdlable farewell, 
And with their throbbing whispers thiill my lute — 
Poor lute ! that knows not what the heart would tell. 

Farewell ! sweet heart of love ! 
Thou hast unlock'd the fountains of deep tears 
In my long desert bosom — thou hast stirred 
My spirit's darksome waters, and my fears 
And doubts have vanished at thy healing word. 

Even like the gentle spring, 
Gilding with sunlight all my darksome hours, 
Camest thou before me, beautiful and bright ! 
Thy voice was as the breath of pure delight — 
By the wayside I saw thj' smile, like flowers. 

God claims thee, gentle one ! 
Even now the joy of heaven's imaginings, 
With angel vesture robes thy holy heart — 
Thy beautiful thoughts upbear thee with white wings : 
God claims thee, darling one ! We part — we part ! 




a 






Poetical Works. 



? 



12) v5 




Hi 



ttmxl M\m\lmm. 



% 



^/:? 
f^. 



-=8' 





Duganne. 



>*sai»S 



"O^'^^^l^ 



J. J. Couch, J. Glover Drew, 

AND 

John Botume, 

5ons of iarto tSnalairt 

AND 
TRIED FSIBNDS, 

THESE MISCELLANIES 

CrmCH THEY HATK MARKED BY THEIR COMMEKDATIOW 

ARE DEDICATED. 




II 




Poetical Works. 



-i\^i6V>-v 



-^'S-. 



JnBpfpiral JrtBisrpKIanips. 



ANTEDILUVIUM. 







_EEP muttcrings were heard, 

As of ai'isiug thunders ; — now in low 
And hoarsely-moaning tones, thatstuTed 
All hearts with secret terror — then a long 
Continuous, melanchol}' flow 
Of sound, like waves that roll among 
The deep, o'erhanging woods ; 
And then the mountains shook, and sounds 
Broke forth from their deep wombs ; and then 
The roar of rushing floods — 
That came, in s^vift and fearful bounds. 
From mountain-top to glen. 
297 



-SS'e^ — 



-— CNS'S,' 




Duganne. 

^§=- ^ ■ 

METRICAL mSCELLAXlES. 

The hearts of men were hush'd in chilling fear; 
And from the palace and the peasant's cot 
They came, and each drew near 
The other, muttering some fearfal thought. 
And straining eyes were turned to heaven ; 
For thence — the prophet-man had said — 
Should come their fearful doom : 
But though the mountain-cliflFs were riven — 
And though each little rippling rill, 

That silvered once the meadows fair, 
"Was swelled to rolling billows — still 
No tempest broke the air : 
No cloud enwrapped in sable gloom 
The blue and peaceful sky ; 
But there the holy star-light beamed, 
And placidly its radiance streamed 
Upon each up-turn'd eye. 

Then a quick, sharp crash, hke a trumpet-blast, 
Broke around and above, and the light was past ; 
And the trampling thunders came fierce and fast : — 
Men looked around, and they looked their last. 

A moment it paused, and the wind was stilled ; 
N^ot a passing zephyr the leaflets thrilled — 

Not a ripple broke over the water ; 
And then o'er the silent sky was spread 
A terrible mantle of bloody red, 
Like crimson field of slaughter. 
298 

=6- 







Poetical Works. 

MKIUIC.U. MISCKLLAMKS. 

And then the lightniugs, fork'd and bright, 

Gleamed out on the face of the fearful night, 

And wrote, in letters of ghastly white, 

The sentence of all mankind : 

And the eyes of men, in the awful light 

Of that ilaming sky — grew blind. 

A shriek of desperate wo — 

A hopeless, wailing, lengthen'd cry, 

Of all the soul's deep agony — 

Went up to that red sky. 

Hushed were their voices then : 

And on the stony earth they sank — 

The stricken sons of men ! 

Forgotten now were power and i-ank : 

The diadems of kings were low; 

Monarch and peasant felt the blow: 

And man crept nearer to his brothei* — 

(He cared not who the wretch might be) 

But fearfully each sought another, 

For fellowship in misery. 

The beggar's arm was wound a prince's neck around — 

The neck of royalty. 

They waited for their graves — 

That silent multitude 

The monarch and his slaves. 

In golden and in iron chains, 

With sightless eyes and throbbing veins, 

In wild confusion stood. 
299 






Duganne. 

SIETEICiL MISCELLANIES. 

There was stillness in heaven and eai^th, 

Silence, and sadness, and gloom : 
The world had forgotten its joyous birth, 

And waited for the tomb. 
And men were crouching on the ground, 

And listening to their ovra dull breathing ; 
And over their bodies, and round and round, 

The slimy snakes were wreathing. 

The roar of the tiger was hushed : 

The lion sank down, with his spirit crushed; 
And forth from their caverns the jackals rushed, 
And mingled with mankind ! — 
All — all — alike — were blind ! 



A light, low sound, as of falling rain ! 
And on the parched and fiery plain 

The showers of heaven descended: 
They cooled the hot and fevered brain. 
And men were lit with hope again, 
As if the curse were ended. 
But, sudden on each startled ear. 
There came a surging sound ! 
A sound as of the moaning seas, 
Or like the Autumn's sobbing breeze, 
That rolls so dolefully around 
The bare and bending trees, — 

Solemn, and sad, and drear. 

300 

-@§^e/'!r^ <~v&'3/f 




Poetical Works. ^-.f-/ 

=^-c4tJ) 

METBICAL MISCKLLAXIES. (I tii 

Then came the thunder-peal once more, v\y 

And the rushing wind, and the ocean-roar, 
And the galloping waves on the crumbling shore, 

And the muttering earthquake's groan ; 
Then the sea up-rose, with a sudden swell, 
Aud the heavy clouds unbroken fell. 
Till over each forest, and plain, and dell. 

The watery pall was thrown. 
Shriekings were heard — Creation's wail ! — 
Howlings of terror rose wild on the gale, 

And to the hills they fled — 
The multitudes of sightless men ! 
"Where were their shrines of marble then ? 

Where were their gods of lead? 

They mounted to the hills — 

The craggy steeps they gained ; 
And to their gods, in desperate yells, 

Their choking voices strained. 
The slow, engulfing waves drew nigh — 

Against each rocky cliff they beat : 
They reached each steep, each mountain high. 
They licked their victims' feet. 
ITp, up ! — the waves grew wilder yet 
They mingled with the bloody sweat 
That bathed each clammy breast : 
Fiercely they came, and the multitude knelt, 
As the crawling curse on their limbs they felt ; 






Duganne. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

And from eacli gasping heart arose 
A cry to Him who ruled their woes ; 
And each dark lip confessed 
The justness of their doom! 
They prayed to that strange God, whose ISTame 

Burned in their souls like living flame — 
Whose withering frown athwart the skies, 
Rohed in the midnight's sable guise, 
Deepened the stormy gloom, — 
They prayed to that strange God, whose might 
Is quick to save, as fierce to smite, 

To shield them from the tomb ; 
Each dark, despairing child of earth, 
To Him who gave Creation birth — 

To Him who rules in Heaven — 
A deep and earnest prayer poured forth, 
A praj'er — to be forgiven ! 

The scales fell from their eyes ! 
They saw the blessed light ! 
'Twas not the golden sunlight's gleam ; 
'Twas not the pale moon's softer beam ; 
But the light of heaven's opening skies 

Broke through the stormy night ; 
And a strain of angel minstrelsies 
Fell from the mystic sky. 
Whispering of hope, and love, and peace, 
To the mortals doomed to die : 

30Z 





(MilS: 



Poetical Works. 



a 



METRICAL MISCt;LI,:VNIKS. 



While far away, ou the watera dark, 
They saw the rescued Prophet's ark. 

God iu his power is kind ! 

God in his wrath still loves ! 
Behold ! as round the nations, bent 

In that last dying prayer. 
Closes the narrowing firmament — 

Ocean devouring air, — 
Behold the Sign of peace — a Dove's 

White T^-ings the winds up-bear ! 
The multitudes behold — believe — 
As through the Dark those pinions cleave. 

They saw, and they believed ! — 

From out the bending sky, 

The hope of immortality 
Their changing hearts received. 
Beyond the grave their faith was cast — 
The bitterness of death was past: 
And Mercy, from the vast profound, 
Smiled o'er the waste where Justice frowned 
And in the choking ocean's fang, 
And in the last, sharp, gasping pang, 

Wlien soul and sense were riven. 
Their closing eyes beheld the light — 
They heard the Hj'mn of seraphs bright, 

And KNEW they were forgiven. 
303 
<P^ ■ 





Duganne. 



11ETEIC4L MISCELLANIES. 




CARACTACUS— C)A ROMAN BALLAD. 



CLOSE your gates, priests of Janus ! close your 
brazen temple gates ! 

For the bold Ostorius Scapula invokes the peaceful 
fates ; 

And the brave Britannic Legion at the Arch of Tri- 
umph waits. 

Bold Ostorius — home returning — for the island war 

is o'er; 
And the Avild Silurian rebels shall arise in arms no 

more: 
Captive stands their savage monarch on the Tiber's 

golden shore. 

Crowded are the banks of Tiber — crowded is the 

Appian "Way ; 
And through all the Via Sacra ye may mark the 

dense array 
Of the tramping throngs who celebrate a Eoman 
m gala-day. 

fiS^ 




Poetical Works. 



A n METRICAL MISCELLANIES. (1 \-J, 

^f From the joyous Campus Martius to the lonely Y 
Aveutine — 
From the Capitoliau Palace to Apollo's Tiber 

shrine — 
Hurrying onward to the Forum, sweeps the long, 
I unbroken line. 

To the Forum, where the Captive — chief of Britain's 

savage horde — 
He who smote the host of Plautius with his fierce 

barbaric sword — 
To the Forum, where the captive, trembling, waits the 

Caesar's word. 

Cakactacus ! Caractacus ! Oh ! full many a Roman 
child 

To its mother's breast at midnight has been caught in 
terror wild. 

When some fearful dream of Biitain's chief her sleep- 
ing sense beguiled. 



Thrice in battle sank our Eagles — shame that Romans 

lived to tell ! 
Thrice three years our baffled legions strove this rebel 

chief to quell : 
Vain were all our arms against him — till by treachery 

he fell. ^ 

3°s " (! Eff 



MSi 



^^^ "==^-^^ 



T 



METHIO.lL MISCELLANIES. 

Now, behold ! he is our captive ! in the market-place 
he stands, 

And around him are the Lictors and the stern Prae- 
torian bands : 

Stands he like a king among them — lifting high his 
shackled hands. 

Sure he sees the steel-clad cohorts — sure he marks the 

lictors nigh. 
Yet he stands before our monarch with a glance as 

proudly high 
As if lie, in truth, were Csesar, and 'twere Claudius 

that should die. 

Gazes he o'er prince and people, with a glance of won- 
dering light — 

O'er the Eostra — o'er the Forum — up the Palatinian 
height — 

O'er the serried ranks of soldiers stretching far beneath 
his sio-ht. 



Grandly swell the crash of cymbals, blare of trump, 
and roll of drum. 

As adown that storied market-place the veteran co- 
horts come : 

Then, at once, the clamorous shoutings sink into a 
brooding hum. 

306 



?3= 







Poetical Works. 




METRICAL MISCELLiVNIES. 

Tramping onward move the legions — tramping on 

■\^'itli iron tread, 
"VVliile Ostorius, marching vanward, proudly bends his 

martial head — 
Proudly bends to the Ovation — meed of those whom 

valor led. 

Statue-hke, in savage grandeur, stands the chief of 

Britain's isle; 
And his bearded lip is wreathing, as with silent scorn, 

the while : 
Bold barbarian! dost thou mock us — mock us with 

that bitter smile? 

Lo ! thou standest where the Brutus sware by chaste 

Lucretia's blood — 
Where the Roman sire, Virginius, o'er his virgin 

daughter stood ; 
And where Marcus Curtius perished — victim for his 
country's good. 



Lo ! thou standest in the Forum — where the stranger's 

voice is free — 
Where the captive may bear witness — thus our Roman 

laws decree ! 
"Lift thy voice, chief of Britons!" 'Tis the Caesar 

speaks to thee ! — 
307 




®\SlQSiji^ Duganne. 




METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 



'^O 



Lift thy voice, wondering stranger! Thou hast 

marked our Roman state : 
All the terrors — all the glories — that on boundless 

empire wait! — 
Boldly speak thy thought, Briton ! — be it framed in 

love or hate!" 

Thus our monarch to the stranger. Then, from off his 

forehead fair, 
Backward, with a Jove-like motion, flung the chief his 

golden hair : 
And he said — "0 King of Romans! fi-eely I my 

thought declare : — 

"Vanquished is my warlike nation — stricken by the 

Roman sword; 
Lost to me my wife and children — long have I their 

fate deplored — 
They are gone — but gloomy HerthaQ still enthralls 

their hapless lord. 

"Yet I murmur not — but tvonder — wondeb, as in 

Jbtna di'eams,(^) 
At each strange and glittering marvel that before mj 

vision gleams ; 
At the blaze of Roman glory which upon my senses 

streams. 

308 (i0 



/fm^'^ 




_^ Poetical Works. 

-■' > METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

" Romans ! evcu as gods ye prosper — boundless are 

your gifts and powers ! 
Ye have fields with grain o'erladen — gardens thick 

with fruits and flowers 
Halls of shining marble builded — cities strong with 

battlina: towers. 



" I have marked j'our gorgeous dwellings, and your 
works of wondrous art ; 

Bi'idges high in air suspended — columned shrine, and 
gilded mart: — 

And I marveled — much I marveled — in my poor bar- 
barian heart. 

"For this day I saw your mighty gods beneath the 
Pantheon dome — 

Gods of gold, and bronze, and silver! — and I mar- 
veled. King of Rome ! 

That such -wealthy gods should euvy me my poor, 
barbarian home !" 

Ceased the chief — and on the pavement sadly sank 

his tearful ej^es. 
And the wondering crowds around him held their 

breath in mute surprise; 
Ileld their breath — and then, outbursting, clove the 

air with sudden cries: A 

- 1^ 309 p^- 



■a/^o Ti^^>, Duganne. ^ ^wfs-^cr ca^ 

■ METRICAL MISCELLANIES. (A_^ 



e 



As when round the hush'd arena's dust a swoon-like 'm^ 
silence floats, Ij, 

WToile the Coliseum's victor o'er his dying foenian 



And as breaks the sudden plaudit from a hundi-ed 
thousand throats. 

Thus arose the voiceful tumult — thus, with loud and 

sudden swell. 
Up from all those swaying thousands rose the shout no 

king might quell : 
" Csesar! he hath spoken bravely! Claudius ! he hath 

spoken well!" 

Not unmoved the brow of Cjesar — it hath lost the 
Claudian fr'own; 

And a tear upon his royal cheek is slowly trickling 
do^vn : 

]^ever purer gem than Pity's tear enriched a mo- 
narch's crown ! 

Yet he speaks in anger's accents — " Ho ! advance the 

fasces now! 
Lictors ! close ye round the scorner ! Ha ! barbarian ! 
smilest thou? 
^ There is one beneath whose glances even thy haughty >)'f 
14 soul shall bowl" 
310 
IS^^ ■ ^-^^>' 



y. 




Poetical Works. 



METRICAL MISCELLASIES. 



^f'0 Thus spoke Claudius — and the soldiers, opeoiug round 
■A the curule chair, 



<^i 




Half revealed a form majestic 'mid the lictors bending 
there — 

Half revealed a stately woman — mantled by her ra- 
diant hair. 

Flashed the captive's eye with sunlight — burned his 

cheek with new-born life — 
Hope, and fear, and doubt, and gladness, held by turns 

their eager strife — 
Then two hearts and voices mingled — murmuring, 

" Husband !" answering, " "Wife !" 



THE GERM OF GOOD. 

NO feet this mortal maze have thrid, 

Or striven its stormy ways to climb, 
That could not, in the journey's prime 
To heavenly paths be led. 
In every heart there's haply hid 
(Though choked by weeds of guile and crime,) 
Some pui'o, untainted germ, which time 
And nurture may to flower upbid : 
And, oh ! it were a task sublime 
M To seek this germ, all withering weeds amid, 

And train it, till it hath tho heart from venom rid! 
3" 







Duganne. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

BARONIAL TIMES. 

PART I. — BARONS OF THE PAST. 

IN tlie old baronial times, 
When the feudal lords bore sway, 
There were high and low, and friend and foe, 
As there are in this our day ; 
There were shrines and fanes, and swords and chains. 
Young maids, and old men gray ! 
And the barons kept high state. 
In their ancient castle halls — 
And the warders stout watched well without, 
Lest foes should scale the walls ; 
And down far deep, in the donjon-keep, 
Were chain'd the barons' thralls. 

And whenever these barons bold 
Would swell their golden hoards, 
They summoned their men from hill and glen, 
And bared their bright broad-swords ; 
And the trumpet brayed, and the war-horse neighed, 
And the minstrel swept his chords. 
And the barons bold rode forth. 
And the fray was fierce and long ; 
For with deadly blows they smote their foes. 
And stormed' their castles strong — 
They sacked and killed, and their coffers filled, — 
But the deed (men say) was wi'oug. 
3'2 





Poetical Works. 




METRICAL »ISCELLANIli3. 

And whenever these barons bold 
Woidd add to their lands a rood, 
They grappled the brand, with a red right hand, 
And seized whatever they would — 
And none said nay, for the strong bore sway. 
And the E\'il ruled the Grood. 
And these barons bold waxed great. 
Till the feeble feared their might : 
They lived like kings, and the bard still sings 
Of their deeds in feast and fight ; 
But to bui-n and steal, and to sack and kiU, 
Can never (men say) be right. 



PART II. — BARONS OF THE PRESENT. 

In the new baronial times, 

The barons have doffed their amis — 
And the shield is dust, and the spear is rust. 
And the sword no more alarms ; 
And the tnimpet-peal and the flash of steel 
Have lost their olden charms. 
But the barons still bear sway — 
In a lordly state they dwell ; 
They have slaves enow, right well I trow. 
And rule mth a mighty spell ; 
And for bright red gold, men's lives untold 
These baa'ons buy and sell. 

3'3 






Duganne. , 



UETKICAL MISCELLANIES. 



Aud -whenever these barous proud . 
"Would swell theii- golden store, 
They Aviite -ndth a pen in the blood of men, 
And the human heart they score : 
They shroud the soul with a parchment scroll, 
And crush men's hopes mth ore. 
And the widow's cruse they grasp, 
And the orphan's crust of bread — 
The blind man's stafl' they seize, -oath a laugh. 
And the pauper's wi-etehed bed ; 
Like vampp-es they prey on the living clay. 
And like ghouls devour the dead. 
And acres of goodly land, 

And houses of chiselled stone. 

Brave ships of the sea, aud forests free, — 

They gather them, one by one : 

The Law is theii- shield, and the World their field. 

And theii- sword is Gold alone. 



Now, tell me the noblest men ! — 

The barons who lived of old — 

The wild, proud lords, ^^ith their crimson swords, 

And their deeds so fierce and bold, — 

Or the barous who ride o'er men's hearts in pride. 

The barons whose swords are gold ! 



-Q.^-y^ -s^^ 




Poetical Works. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 



PLYMOUTH ROCK. 



BOCK of Freedom ! old and hoary- 
Footstool of the Pilgrhn band ! 

Emblem of their toil and glory — 
Altar where their children stand : 

Lo ! we keep thy name immortal, 
We, who own the Pilgrim stock ; 

For they marched through Freedom's portal, 
O'er her threshold — Plymouth Rock ! 

Bethel, thou 1 of wandering nations — 

Pharos through the gloom of time ; 
Patriots mark their long probations 

Ended at thy base sublime 1 
There the tyrants sink, adoring. 

There the slaves their chains unlock, 
There the freeman's flag, up-soaring, 

Points to mankind — Plymouth Eock ! 

Rock of Freedom ! Proud and lonely, 

Once it braved Atlantic's roar : 
Once its bosom bulwark' d only 

^Massachusetts' stormy shore ; 
Noiv, where'er, on coast or border, 

Danger threats her angry shock. 
There, be sure — for watch and warder — 
(§5 Stands, for aye, a Pilgrim Rock ! 





Duganne. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

THE ARMIES. 

PART I. — ARMIES OF THE PRESENT. 

SO UL ! behold those marshalled armies, 

Threat'ning Heaven with dire alarms ! 
Gorgeous banners wave above them — 

Flash like flame their gleaming arms ! 
Lo ! their steeds the earth are trampling — 

Hark ! their brazen trumpets clang ; 
And the sulph'rous clouds of battle 

Like a pall above them hang. 
Shakes the ground beneath their onset — 

Quakes the skj' with answering di-ead ; 
And the iron waltz of battle 

Whirls along, with crashing ti-ead : 
Flash the flaming tongues of muskets — 

Peals the cannon's angry roar ; 
And the shell's loud diapason 

Swells the awful din of war. 
Storm-hke rolls the hurtling onset — 

Leaden drops of murderous rain ; 
Thund'rous fall the angry war-bolts — 

Crimson rivers cross the plain : 
Islands rise where sink the bravest — 

Islands formed of steeds and men ; 
From the earth they sprang to being — 

To the earth are trod again. 
3.6 




i 






^^^S^SU^ Poetical Works. ^oii®^^ 

METKICAL MISCKLLASIKS. /( 

Iron hoofs are on men's bosoms — r 

Hearts are crushed by cannon-wheels ; C 

Still the drum-beat gaily soundeth — V 

Still the cheering bugle peals. 
Sheaves of souls like chatF are winnowed — 

Swept beneath the whirl of fire ; 
Still the trumpet merrily clangeth — 

Still the flags are mounting higher. 

Back — far back behind those armies — 

Move, with feeble steps and slow, 
Ranks of pale and faded maidens, 

Clad in garbs of sable wo ; 
Lines of orphaned babes and widows — 

Dying mothers, childless sires ; — 
Merrily still resounds the bugle, 

Brightly gleam the battle fires. 

PART II. — ARMIES OF THE FUTURE. 

SOUL! look forth where shines the Future ! 

Lo ! where march in i-adiant lines. 
Glorious hosts with snow-white banners — 

Banners bright with holiest signs — 
Gleams the Press, in golden glory — 

Shines the Plough, in silken pride ; 
Waves aloft the flashing Anvil — 

Floats the ponderous Sledge beside. 
3'7 



•^/m^ 






Duganne. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

Stalvrart men, \\-itli limbs of iron, 

Bear those gleaming flags above: 
Men witb lips and ej-es of gladness — 

Valiant souls and hearts of love. 
Kings o'er earth their loud hosanna — 

Soar to heaveu those banners fair: 
Hark ! the eternal concave echoes — 

Labor ! labor ! — Tvork is prayer ! 

O'er earth's plains sweep on those armies : 

Mountains fall beneath theu" blows ; 
Lo ! thej choke the red volcanoes — 

Lo ! thej grapple Iceland snows ! 
Eush their ploughs through black morasses — 

KoU their cars through deserts' gloom ; 
Dark ^liasma flies before them — 

Shrinks in dread the hot Simoom ! 

Gleam with golden grain the deserts — 

Shine the swamps with flow'rets bright ; 
Still march on those glorious armies — 

"Wave their flags in radiant Hght. 
Ocean's storms to them are playthings — 

Chained are Earth, and Fire, and Air ; 
Merrily rings their loud-voiced anthem — 

"Labor! labor! — work is prayer!" 



3.8 





Poetical Works. ^._^^sv-f 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. (\ HI 

Following close these conquering armies — 

Dancing on Avitli twinkling feet — 
"WTiite-armed maids and flower-crown' d children 

Haste those warrior-men to gi-eet — 
Hands are clasped in holiest union ; 

Joy, like incense, soars ahovc : 
Hail ! thrice hail ! the Industrial Armies ! 

Hail the immortal Strife of Love ! 

TO THE PRINTERS. 

BRETHREN of the Art of Arts : 
Sons of those old German spirits 
Through whose toil the world inherits 
All the joj's that lore imparts, — 
Know ye, that from out your hearts 
Ye should ne'er permit to perish 
Faust or Guttenburgek's fame ! — 
Never cease to fondly cherish 
Ancient Sciiaeffer's name ! 
But let not their names alone 
In your memory be enshrined — 
Cherish ye their searching mind — 
Make their noble thoughts your ovra : 
Then above all slavish fetters, 
Proudly marked, shall rise your order — 
Then the glorious Craft of Letters 
Shall be Freedom's Watch and "Warder. 
3'9 





Duganne. 



METEICAL MISCELLiXIES. 




ODE TO powers' GREEK SLAVE. (^ 



aREEK! by more than Moslem fetters thi-all'd ! 
marble prison of a radiant thougbt ! 
Wliere life is half recalled — 
And Beauty dwells, created, not enwrought, — 
WTiy liauntest thou my dreams, enrobed in light, 

And atmosphered Trith purity, wherein 

Mine own soul is transfigured, and grows bright, 

As though an angel smiled away its sin ? 




chastity of Art ! 
Behold I this maiden shape makes solitude 

Of all the busy mart ; 
Beneath her soul's immeasurable woe, 
All sensuous vision lies subdued; 
And, from her veiled eyes, the flow 
Of tears is inward turned upon her heart : 
While on the prisoning lips 
Her eloquent spirit swoons. 
And from the lustrous brows' eclipse 
Falls patient glory, as from clouded moons ! 

J20 




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METEICAJL MISCELLiXlKS. 




Severe in vestal gi'ace, yet warm 
And flexile Math the delicate glow of youth, 
She stands, the sweet embodiment of truth ; 
Her pure thoughts clustering around her form, 
Like seraph garments, M-hiter than the snows 
Which the wild sea upthrows. 

Genius ! thou canst chain 
Not marble only, but the human soul : 
And melt the heart with soft control, 
And wake such reverence in the brain, 
That man may be forgiven, 
If in the ancient days he dwelt 
Idolati'ous Mith sculptured life, and knelt 
To Beauty more than Heaven ! 

Genius is worship ! for its works adore 
The Infinite Source of all their glorious thought! 
So blessed Art, like Nature, is o'erfi-aught 

With such a wondrous store 
Of hallowed influence, that we who gaze 
Aright on her creations, haply pray and praise ! 

Go, then, fair Slave ! and in thy fetters teach 
What Heaven inspired and Genius hath designed: 
Be thou Evangel of true Art, and preach 
The freedom of the Mind ! 





Duganne. 



METKICAL SUSCELLAXIEB. 




AN HONEST BALLAD TO JOHN BULL, 

[Per MAHTIN FAEQTDHAR TUPPEH,] 

In reply to a "LOVING BAT.T.AD TO BBOTHEB. JONATHAN ;"( 5) 

From MARTIN FARQUHAB TUPPEH. 



r VIE read your ballad, Joliuny Bull ! 

A dozen times or more — 
'Faith ! at my heart it took a pull, 

That drew me " half-seas o'er ;" 
I felt the "Anglo-Saxon" run 

Through neck, and cheek, and forehead : 
I might have been your shadow, John ! 

I grew so very florid. 



It sort o' tickled me, I own, 

To read sich printed praise : 
Sez I, old Johnny 's cuter grown 

In these his latter days. 
I calculated all was true, 

And jist as good as preachin', 
Because, friend John ! you know that tew 

Can play at over-reachiu'. 
3" 





Poetical Wbrks. 



^^^ 



METRICAL MISCELLASIPS. 

But still it sort o' puzzled me, 

To think liow, all at once, 
Sich virtoos in a chap you see, 

You used to call a dunce 
It's surely but the other day, 

You asked, with scornful look, 
"Who heeds a Yankee journal, pray? 

Who reads a Yankee book?" 



O ! Johnny Bull ! ! Johnny Bull ! 

It's really grown too late 
Of brotherhood so beautiful 

'Twixt you and me to prate. 
A Cam-like chap you'd proved, I ween. 

Had you disabled us — 
A brother Remus we'd have been, 

And you our Romulus ! 



Our friendship, John ! you might have won, 

(Pre-haps have gained our love,) 
When we were but an eaglet, John ! 

And gentle as a dove. 
But you were vicious, then, and tried 

To clip our growing wings : 
Your brother didn't like sich pride. 

And didn't b'lieve in kings ! 
3M 



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Duganne. 

MF.TEICiL MISCELLAXIKS. 

Your "British Granny-Bears," good Joliu! 

We often recollect ! 
Tliey journeyed once through Lexington, 

Quite gaily, I suspect. 
And "Yankee Doodle" 's liked as well, 

I doubt it not, by you, John ! — 
At Yorktown on your ears it fell, 

And Saratoga, too, John ! 



It may have been, as now you sing, 

That our old English sires 
Have battled for some tyrant king. 

Or lit his Smithfield fires : 
It may have been that sires o' mine 

Have bent the vassal's knee, John ! 
But fi'om the hoast o' sich a hne, 

Good Lord deliver me, John ! 




Thank God ! that Shakspeare Uved and sung ! 

For Milton, Heaven be praised ! 
The flame from out their spirits flung 

Through all the world has blazed. 
Hight glad are we that English birth 

For souls like these you claim, John : 
But recollect that all the eaiUi 

Is narrow for their fame, John ! 
324 



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Poetical Works. 

MCTUICaL MISCKLLANIES. 

"We shared your glorious days, good John ! 

But, oh! we're modest now! 
We don't lay claim to aught that's done 

In prese7it years, I trow. 
We beg to be excused trom fame 

Through Oliina or Bengal, John ! 
And thank you not to use our name, 

When Ireland you recall, John ! 



Pre-haps, good Johnny ! by and by. 

When kings are obsolete. 
And soldiers thrown hke rubbish by, 

And sceptres under feet ; 
When laws of corn, and laws of game. 

And tithings are no more, John ! 
When Ireland isn't England's shame, 

And India isn't sore, John ! 



When starving men have gained their own, 

And lords and dukes are sparse ; 
When ballot-boxes rule the throne, 

And pauper-sonp is scarce, — 
When England's noble peasantry, 

And England's laboring men, John ! 
In soul and limb arc glad and free — 

We'll call you "Brother," then, John! 
3=5 





Duganne. 



UETBICAL UISCELLASIES. 



PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 



■'"■^^NSo-; 



TSUEJS 'S a man in England's Upper 
Ten, ■with dainty feed for supper — 
ilister ^lAKTDf Faequhak Tupper 

Is liis name : 
And he 's writ full many a poem 
For the poorer class, to show 'em. 
That if poverty should blow 'em, 

They themselves are most to blame — 
That advice is what we owe 'em, 

And ec|uahty 's a shame. 




It is weU for Mister Tupper 

Thus to preach from Fortune's upper 

Deck, that those within the scupper 

Should' nt pine for iish or fowl : 
That to grunt is very silly, 
And that life's a dafly-diUy, 
And the Poor Man — wiU-he, nill-he — 

Must be silent as an owl — 
And if things grow well or ill, he 

Xever should presume to growl. 
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METEIOAL MISCELLANIES. 



III. 

That's good talk for Mister Tupper, 
Who is fast iu Fortune's crupper ; 
While he drinks a stirrup-cup, or 

Two — it's famous talk for him : 
But, if he'd but leave his dinner, 
And become some pauper sinner — 
Some poor weaver, or some spinner. 

Working, sick iu heart and limb,- 
He'd see something of the inner 

Life, that now to him is dim ! 



EVER BE HAPPY.(«) 



EVER be happy, wherever thou art — 

Leaving a broken heart ; 
Still be thy bosom unclouded with care. 
Though I no more am there : 
Yet, like a star, 
Worshipped afar. 
Purely loved still thou art — 
Loved by a broken heart. ^ 




Duganne. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

Well I remember the hours that we met — 

Oh ! that I could forget ! 
Oh ! that Oblivion might haply o'ercast 
Joys that too brightly passed ! 
Oh ! that my soul 
Thought might control. 
And forget that thou wert 
Loved by a trusting heart ! 

I can but bless thee, wherever thou art — 

Bless thee with hopeless heart ; 
I can but pray that no grief shall be thine, 
Grief such as now is mine. 
Though in the dust 
Lies all my trust. 
Yet beloved still thou art — 
Loved by a changeless heart. 

Ever my spirit in memoiy returns, 
Fondly my heart still yearns : 
Yet must I love thee, and call thee mine own, 
Still is my heart thy throne; 
Joy's dream is past, — 
Death comes at last : 
Yet beloved still thou ai-t — 
Loved by a dying heart ! 
Ever be happy, wherever thou art — 
Loved by a dying heart ! 

328 

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Poetical Works. 



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METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 




THE autocrat's TRIUMPH. (') 

A 3IUSO0VITE stood ou the Capitol Hill— 

A serf of Autocrat Nicholas ; 
And over the city of Washington 

He looked tlirough an opera-glass. 

He chuckled, and smacked his hairy lips, 
And shook his sides with laughter, 

As a slave-gang crawled through the Avenue, 
With a driver following after. 

" This building they call the Capitol," 

Quoth he, " is surely grand— 
But down by the river stands one which suits 

My own dear native land ! 

" I like that building- in faith, I do ! 

For out of it, all day long. 
Come clank of chain and crack of lash, 

And groans from agony wrung. 

"Ho, ho! 'twould glad my master's heart — 

My master, the Autocrat 

But, ah ! what tumult is this I hear ? 

That rushing crowd — what's that?" 
3^9 





_ ^ Duganne. 



METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 




The Muscovite looked through his opera-glass, 
And he almost danced with joy; 

For he saw a mob, and he heard the shout. 
Of "burn !" — " tear down !" — " destroy!" 

"Ho, ho!" laughed Muscovy, long and loud — 

" The meaning of this I guess ; 
These brave and happy Republicans 

Are about to muzzle a Press I 

"This does me good, by Peter the Great! 

There's hope for despots yet ! 
When the heel of a mob in "Washington 

On a fallen Press is set. 

" I feared, when Phillippe was sent adrift 
Por muzzling the voice of thought — 

But I see these model Republicans 
Are better than Frenchmen taught. 

" Ho, ho ! Ho, ho ! well done ! well done ! 

For freedom of thought is o'er ! 
The Press is buUied in Washington, 

And Tyranny's safe once more!" 



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Poetical Works 



METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 



THE PRAYER OF JESUS 



FBA YED the Christ, when, pale and dyiug, 

Ou the cruel cross he hung — 
When the Temple-veil was rended, 

And the night o'er day was flung; 
Wlien the hireling soldier's spear-point 

Pierced his anguished bosom through, — 
" Father ! forgive my murderers ! 

" For they know not what they do I" 

Mocking lips his woes derided — 

Heads were bowed in scornful pride ; 
Judas had betrayed his Master — 

Peter thrice his Lord denied ; 
Yet still prayed the Christ, unfaltering, 

While his gasping breath he drew, 
" Father ! forgive my murderers ! 

" For they know not what they do." 



Oh ! my brother ! thou who hangest 
On the cross of earthly wo — 

Thou, who bearest whip and fetter, 
Angry word and cruel blow, — 
33' 




Duganne. 

JJETEICAL MISCELLANIES. 

Be the Chkist thy soul's example ! 

Pray, with heart sincere and true, 
" Fathbr ! forgive my murderers ! 

"For they know not what they do." 

Thou, whose bruised and broken spirit 

Groaneth with continual strife — 
Thou, who sinkest, faint with suffering, 

By the weary waj^ of life, — 
Pray, thou still, with foemen round thee- 

Pray, when friends are weak and few, 
" Father ! forgive mj^ murderers ! 

" For they know not what they do." 



5 



Pray, my brother ! Lo ! thy suffering 

Shall redeem thy cruel foes ! 
For each prayer, in anguish rising, 

Back to earth in mercy flows : 
Like the Christ, pray, my brother ! 

Pray, with soul serene and true, — 
" Father ! forgive my murderers ! 

" For they know not what they do !" 



,fe 



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Poetical Works. 



METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 



THE drunkard's LAMENT.(s) 



IM thinking on thy smile, Mary ! 

Thy bright and trusting smile — 
In the morning of our youth and love, 

Ere sorrow came, or guile ; 
When thine arms were twined about my neck, 

And mine eyes look'd into thine; 
And the heart that throbb'd for me alone 

Was nestling close to mine. 




I sec full many a smile, Mary ! 

On young lips beaming bright; 
And many an eye of light and love 

Is flashing in my sight: 
But the smile is not for my poor heart. 

And the eye looks strange on me ; 
And a loneliness comes o'er my soul, 

When its memoiy turns to thee. 



I'm thinking on the night, Mary ! 

The night of grief and shame, 
When, with dn^nken ravings on my lip. 

To thee I homeward came: 
333 



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Duganne. 



MUTRIOAL MISCELLANIES. 



-==l^ 



Oh ! the tear was in thine earnest eye, 

And thy bosom wildly heaved ; 
Yet a smile of love was on thy cheek, 

Though thy heart was sorely grieved. 

Oh ! my words were harsh to thee, Maiy ! 

For the wine-cup made me wild ; 
And I chid thee when thine eyes were sad, 

And I cursed thee when they smil'd. 
God knows I loved thee, even then. 

But the fire was in my brain ; 
And the curse of drink was in my heart. 

To make my love a bane ! 

'Twas a pleasant home of ours, Mary ! 

In the spring-time of our life — 
When I look'd upon thy trusting face. 

And proudly call'd thee, "wife!" 
And 'twas pleasant when the children play'd, 

Before our cottage door; — 
But the children sleep with thee, Mary ! 

I ne'er shall see them more ! 

Thou art resting in the churchyard now. 

And no stone is at thy head ; 
But the sexton knows a drunkard's wife 

Sleeps in that lowly bed : 
334 



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Poetical Works. 



METRICAL MISCELLAXIES. 

And he saj's the hand of God, Mary ! 

Will fall, with crushing weight. 
On the wretch who brought thy gentle life 

To its untimely fate ! 

But he knows not of the broken heart 

I bear within my breast, 
Nor the heavy load of vain remorse, 

That will not let me rest ! 
He knows not of the sleepless nights, 

When, dreaming of thy love, 
I seem to see thine angel eyes 

Look coldly from above. 

I have raised the wine-cup in my hand, 

And the wildest strains I've sung. 
Till with the laugh of drunken mirth 

The echoing air has rung, — 
But a pale and sorro^^ang face look'd out 

From the glittering cup on me ; 
And a trembling whisper I have heard, 

That I fancied breath'd by thee ! 

Thou art resting in the silent grave, 
And thy sleep is dreamless now ; 

But the seal of an undying grief 
Is on thy mourner's brow ! 




w^ 





'JLi^_ 



Duganne. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

And my heart is chill as thine, Mary ! 

For the joys of life have fled — 
And I long to lay my aching breast 

With the cold and dreamless dead ! 



COLUMBUS AND GARIBALDI. 

OiVthe crowded quays of Genoa 

Walk'd a discontented man — 
Gazing forth upon the ocean 

Far as straining eye could scan : 
Fix'd and pallid was his forehead ; 

And his arms were tightly lock'd 
Over the heart that in his hosom 

Like a surffinsc billow rock'd. 




Gazed he forth upon the ocean, 

Through the clouds of misty night — 
Gazed he forth when dancing sunshine 

Eobed the sea in golden light ; 
And his lips Avould mutter strangely, 

And his forehead weave a frown, 
"Whilst he hugg'd his heart more tightly, 

As 'twere hard to keep it down. 
336 



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Poetical Works. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

Gatlier'd the people oft arouud him — 

Jeering men and laughing maids ; 
Mocking scorn, and freezing pitj^ — 

Nodding chins and wagging heads. 
And the gray beards cried, " Good Jesu ! 

" 'Tis a sight should make us sad ! 
" This poor man has gone demented — 

"Poor Columbus, sure, is mad!" 



i^S^ 



Like that madman of old story, 

Stands another Genoese now — 
Fixing on the Future's ocean 

Earnest eye and pallid brow ; 
Throbs his heart with ardent longings, 

But he uttereth not his thought ; 
For the might of his conceptions 

In the Future must be wrought. 



Like Columbus, looks he outward. 

Through the gloomy clouds of night. 
To a WORLD of glorious beauty 

Shining in upon his sight. 
Heeds he not the jibes and mocking — 

Heeds he not the words of scorn ! 
For the act is in the future — 

Though the thought be newly born. 
337 





Duganne. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

Garibaldi ! mount thine ocean ! 

Grasp the hehn, and sway the bark ! 
Onward, thoii Genoese sailor ! 

Freedom is thy glorious mark. 
Golden lands gave old Columbus 

To the grasping kings of Spain ! 
Thou mayst win thy country's birthright — 

Freedom for Italia gain ! 




REQUIEM FOR JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 



THERE is a shadow on the souls of men — 

There is a sound as of a nation's sob, 
And a wild-heaving sorrow, like the throb 
Of a giant's mighty heart. 
Adams is dead ! 
" This is the last of earth !" O'er plain and glen 
Those words are wandering like a troubled bii'd, 
And the deep waters of all hearts are stirred ; 

He hath no longer part 
In the rude warfare of the troublous world ! 
He who hath borne God's armor in the fight — 
He who hath struck brave blows for human right, 
And wrestled with the fiercest wrongs, and hurled 
His thunders at the brazen front of might, — 
Adams is dead ! 
338 





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Poetical Works. 

METRICAL MISCELLANIES. 

He hath M'rit his glorious memoiy on the page 
Of a great people's history, aud the blaze 
Of his all-radiant life shall be enshrined — 

A lofty beacon light, 
A pillar of fire amid his country's night — 

A flame upon the altar of mankind, 
Fann'd by the breath of patriots, whereso'er 
Riseth a fi-eeman's prayer ! 
He hath ruled o'er generous natures, and sunk down 
Gloriously diademed with the reverend crown 
Of pure and spotless age ! — 
Brighter and larger, as the dying sun 
Sinks in the ocean wave — his golden grave. 
Meet was it that he died 
Within those walls that heard his clarion tones 

Echoing of yore from Freedom's council-floor, 
Aud startling Europe's despots on their thrones, — 
Meet was it that he died. 
Grasping the helm which none might better guide. 

Raise ye a monument I 
Yet pile not stones, nor build up walls of brass, 

For " the old man eloquent !" 
But gatlier chains, by his stern thunders broken — 

Rear ye the crumbled idols that he crush'd — 
'Grave on those ruins the warnings he hath spoken, — 
And crown the mass 
With the lofty hopes that from his bosom gush'd ! 



V^J 339 



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Duganne. 

METEICIL MISCELLAXIES. 

Then shall his partiDg words be given 
In blessings fi'om his glorious heaven — 

Then shall each mystic word, 
Wherewith his lofty life Avas closed, 
To Freedom's lips be prayerfully transferr'd: 
"I AM composed!" 




TO MY LADY. 

COMU hither, lady ! come ! 

Thou art gloriously fair — 
And thine eyes are purer, brighter, 

Than the jewels in thy hair. 
There is music in thy motions — 

There is perfume in thy smile ; 
Gentle lady! wilt thou listen 

To the Poet's song awhile ? 

I'll tell thee, lady bright ! 
i^ay, incline thy lofty head ! — 
I will tell thee of thy sisters, 

VVho are famishing for bread ! 
Through the weary midnight toiling, 
Through the chill and dreary day ; 
They are sisters, lovely lady ! 
Pr'ythee, list the Poet's lay ! 
340 




Poetical Works. 

JlETRICiL MISCELLANIES. 

Thy sistei-s call to thee — 

thou beautiful aud bright ! 
See ! their eyes are dull and sunken, 

And their cheeks so thin and white! 
Look ! their foreheads burn with fever, 

While their hearts are chill with fear : 
Thou art weeping, beauteous lady ; — 

Heaven bless thee for that tear ! 

List ! gentle lady, list : — 

Thou wilt hear the smothered sighs 
Of the hopeless one who liveth. 

Of the happier one who dies. 
Thou hast sisters who are outcast — 

Yet through misery they erred ; 
They are pining — yea, they perish 

For a single kindly word ! 

Come hither, lady ! come ! — 
There ai-e hearts which thou may'st warm ! 
Be an angel in thy mercies, 

As thou hast an angel form. 
Come, and soothe thy suiiei-ing sisters, 

Fair and gentle as thou art ! 

Oh ! the poor are always with thee !— 

They are kneeling at thy heart ! 



-SS-e/^- 



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Duganne. 



METKICAI. MISCELLANIES. 





REQUIEM FOR A BELOVED CHILD. 



HE lies ill beauty with our griefs around him — 
So sweetly folded in his snowy shroud ; 

As if 'twere but 9, gentle sleep that bound him — 
As if a dream alone our spirits bowed. 

Ah, me ! a sleep that knows no earthly waking — 
A dream that may not flee with morning hours ; 

Oh ! blossom of the hearts that now are breaking ! — 
It blows no more among our household flowers. 

Alas ! the Hope, that clung around his being ! 

The Faith, that traced in light his future years ! 
The Love, that all his virtues was foreseeing ! — 

Must these, alas! be dimmed with bitter tears? 

Oh ! no ! the Hope looks upward still to heaven ; 

The Faith soars calmly to the realms above ; 
The Love, that to our earthly child was given, 

Still mingles in his soul with angel love. 

And, oh ! the years that now our babe has entered! 

The virtues clustering round his seraph brow! 
How weak our trust that late on earth was centred — 

How sure the promise that sustains us now ! 
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METRICAL MISCKLLANIES. 




This offering, Jesus ! to Thine arms we tender — 
Our child, our babe, our little one, we yield : 

Its fragrance, Lord! to Thee we humbly render — 
Our choicest flower — the lily of our field : — 

To bloom beneath thy smile — to dwell beholding 
The woudrous mystery of thy love diviue ; 

Its beauteous petals evermore unfolding — 

Its opening heart, dear Lord ! so near to Tliiue ! 

O angel-child ! — earthly one immortal ! — 
Pure messenger from out this world of sin ! 

Our darling's form hath oped the heavenly portal, 
And streams of glory bathe us from within. 






3 3€Vi>— - 



Duganne. 

NOTES 

TO 

iWcttiral iHtsceUamfS. 




(1) Caractacits. 

Caractacus was a British prince, who placed 
himself at the head of the Silures, a people of 
North Wales, in a revolt against the Romans. 
He defeated the Roman general, Plautius, in 
three pitched battles; but, after a protracted 
struggle of nine years, was overcome by Osto- 
RIUS, Roman governor of Britain, who took 
uaptive the chieftain's wife and daughter. Ca- 
ractacns took refuge with Cartismandua, Queen 
of the Brigantes; hut was treacherously de- 
livered up to Ostorius, and carried by him to 
Rome, where (his fame having reached the 
capital) a great concourse of people attended, 
to witness his introduction to the Emperor 
Claudius. The behaviour of the noble barba- 
rian, on this occasion, w.is firm and magnani- 
mous, as, with an erect presence, he replied to 
the Caesar's questions: and the latter had the 
generosity to admit his defence, and, releasing 
him from his chains, ordered his wife and child 
to be restored to him. — Vide Taciti Annal. xii. 
(2) gloomy Hertha. 

Hertba, in Scandinavian mythology, corre- 
sponds to the western goddess Terra, or £arth. 
(3) Jctna dreams. 

" Jotna" is the state of supernatural slum- 
ber into which (according to Northern super- 
stitions) persons were cast by magical spells. 

(4) The Grctk Slave. 

This poem was the result of a competition for 
a prize of $100, offered by the "Cosmopolitan 
Art and Literary Association." (which had pur- 
chased Hiram Powers' statue,) " for the best 
Ode written ou this beautiful creation of Ame- 
rican Genius." The judges selected (says the 
JV«o York Mirror) were " Messrs. Bayard Tay- 
lor, of the Tribune : B. S. Willis, of the Musical 
World, and H. Fuller, of the Evening Mirror, 
who met at the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Tuesday 
evening, Oct. 3d, (1S54.) About two hundred 
contributions were sent in, with the writers' 
names enclosed in sealed envelopes, with the 
understanding that only the name of the win- 
ner should be known. This condition was 
strictly observed ; and the committee, after 
oarefully reading them, and discussing the 
merits of the fifteen or twenty worth consider- 
ing, unanimously decided in favor of the Ode 
by Augustine Duganne." 

(5) Ever be Happy, 

These verses, *' like the "Drunkard's La- 
ment," were written for music, and widely cir- 
culated in that form. 

(6) Aulocrtit's Triumph, 

This Jeu d'a.tprit was first printed during the 
excitement growing out of a threatened attack 
upon the prlnting-offioe of the IfaHonal Era, in 



Washington, (D. C.,) by persons opposed to the 
course of that paper. 

(7) Drunkard's Lament. 
This poem has been extensively circulated — 
printed in almost every journal of the country. 
It was dedicated, with music, to " Father Mat- 
thew," who, in a letter to the author, remarks, 
that "its circulation will bo of great benefit to 
the holy cause of temperance." 
(S) "A Loving Ballad to Brother Jonathan." 
Martin Farquhar Tupper, the worthy author 
of " Proverbial Philosophy," (an elongation, but 
no improvement, of old George Herbert's treats 
ment of the same subject.) has, on several oc- 
casions, been pleased to patronize and encourage 
this modest country of ours, in her efforts " to 
get along." Among other " flattering notices" 
was the " Loving Ballad" above mentioned, a 
few verses from which are here appended — to 
mark the gist of the rejoinder : — 
" Ho, Bbothkr! I'm a Britisher, 

A cbip of heart oT oak, 
That would'nt warp, or swerve, or stir, 

From what I thought or spoke: 
And vou ji blunt and honest man, 

Siraightforwnrd, kind, and truel 
I tell you, Brother Jonathan, 

" God save the Queen" delights you still, 

The good old strains vour heart-strings thrill, 

And hold rou by both ears : 
And we — O hate us, if you can, 

" e proud of j 






Eugland's 



3 Queen J 
i I, good Jonatbai 



For Sbtkkspcare. huppy Jonathan, 



Let us two bless, where others 

And love when others hate ; 

And 30. my cordial Jonathan, 






r^vS^^j— 



We'll fit, I calculate. 

(9) Garibaldi. 
Garibaldi, one of the Triumvirate of Rome, 
during the Revolution of 18-lS, ia recognised by 
his republican countrymen, as "the Sword oflta- 
ly"— and, if he bo not deceived into trusting the 
Sardinian government too muoh, may yet rally 
" L'ltalia Giovane" to a new struggle for lib- 
erty. God grant he may keep the brave heart that 
has made him the hero of two worlds already. 



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(poms of "^oji^oob. 



I 



D^Siy 



m^ 




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T 



Elijah Hobart, 



S. L. Perkins and Paschal Loomis, 

(of CONNECTICUT,) 

ARTISTS AND PRIEXDS, 
wtljESs joints of ^og^ooJEr 

ARE INSCRIBED, 

AS A MEIIOEIAL OF THE AUTHOR'S ESTEEM. 



MHJ 



^1 






Poetical Works. 




fnm% of ©ogljoob. 



MASSACHUSETTS, 




'tis. 



jIIE morn of Freedom's uatal day once 
more 
In sunlight breaketh. From the roel^ 
shore 
On wliich the dark AtUxntic's waves break high, 
To where the pine-trees, losing in the sky 
Their feathery vastness, mark far Oregon ; 
Where'er the glorious morning-beams have shone, — 
The peeaus of rejoicing hosts arise. 
In one glad anthem, to the cloudless skies. 
All — all — are free ! — on every hill-top wave 
The flags of Freedom ! in each mountain cave 
Her chorus echoes ! 

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POEMS OF BOTHOOD. 

List ! metliought a cry 
Of woe rose thrillingly — metbought a sigh, 
Deep and heart-laden, trembled on the air ! 
Alas ! not Freedom greets us everywhere ! 
Within the very garden of the brave, 
Upon the blood-bought soil, there kneels — a slave ! 
His chains are clanking on the Southern gale. 
And, mingling with the song of Freedom, comes his 
wail. 

God ! permit it not ! on thee we call ! 
"Wilt thou not free us from the numbing thrall 
That binds the noble feelings which should spring 
Spontaneous? " Let not the unclean thing 
Abide in Israel !" 

Turn we from the theme ; — 
There is a spot where Freedom's morning-beam 
Burst every cloud. My heart will turn to thee — 
Thee, Massachusetts ! — home of Liberty ! 



Land of my birth ! the Star which erewhile led 
The pilgrims to thy shores — the Star that shed 
Its beams o'er sundered chains and shattered crowns- 
That guided thee and thine beneath the frowns 
Of sceptred imbeciles — that burst the night 
Of Slavery, and lit the beacon-light 
Of Freedom, — still shines on, still sheds its beams- 
Not in the fitful cannon's lurid gleams, 
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T POEMS OF BOYHOOD. ci 

Not in the wild war-fire, nor on tlie gold | 

Of flashing banners ; — turn we, and behold 
Its rays jDervading, brightening, softening all — 
Here in the Temple, there in Learning's hall. 

Time rushes back ! the mighty works of art 
Fade, like a dream, away ; like clouds, depart 
The " pomp, the pride, the pageants" of the day ; 
The busy life-sounds die in waves away, 
Each minute circling wider. All alone, 
(My soul unconscious of the tumult grown,) 
In silence and in awe, I seem to stand 
Upon the moaning ocean's storm-beat strand. 
Stillness is all around me, save the sound 
Of surging pine-trees, or the dull rebound 
Of baffled waves upon the rocky shore, — 
Perchance the distant and continuous roar 
Of gathering tempests. 

On the foamy wave, — 
Now sinking in the gulf that seems her grave, 
Now rising on the billows chill and dark, 
Lo ! tremblingly careens a sea-worn bark ; 
The breakers dash around her ; on her lee 
The clifl's uprear their forms ; the rushing sea 
Each moment threatens wreck ; and sable night, 
And stormy skies, and all the shapes that fright 
The soul of man, are round her ; — yet she rides 
In safety — proudly stems the whirling tides ; — 
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POEMS OP BOYHOOD. 

Till, moored at last within the sheltering bay, 
Her weary crew behold the welcome day. 
The laboring boat thro' stormy billows cleaves, 
Where, on the beetling EocK, the surge upheaves ; 
And, springing lightly on the yielding sod. 
They consecrate the soil — to Freedom and to God. 

High hearts were there — the aged and the young ; 
Around the gray-haired sire the infant clung ; 
The lofty form of manhood, and the fair 
And shrinking maiden — all were clustered there ! 
In lofty faith — in hopefulness and love. 
They stood — that noble band — until, above 
The breakers' roar and tempest's din, the song 
Of Freedom's gladness burst, and rolled along 
The arching skies, — while hill, and vale, and plain. 
And every forest-aisle, gave back an answering strain. 

Time speeds away ! Beneath the rushing tide 
Of far-advancing empire, falls the pride 
Of those primeval woods that, echoing, rang. 
When loud and clear th' exulting pilgrims sang ; 
And, with their sylvan homes, have vanished, too. 
The untamed race that 'neath their shadows grew. 
K"o more the red man treads his hunting-grounds, 
No more, amid the hills, his war-whoop sounds ; 
Gone, like the woods, that were of him a part, 
Each blow that fell'd them struck the red man's heart. 
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Poetical Works. 

POEMS OJ' BOYHOOD. 

Time pauses once again ! the pilgrims sleep ; 
The hills they loved their peaceful ashes keep ; 
A mighty change has come across the face 
Of Nature : vainly, now, we seek to trace 
The towering forests ; where the war-fire blazed, 
The village church in simple pride is raised ; 
And where the waters slept in peace profound, 
The noisy mill-wheel whirls its ceaseless round ; 
But on the breeze a muttering is heard ; 
"With heavy sounds the quiet air is stirred ; 
"Wild battle's tocsin breaks upon the ear ; 
And rolling drums, and sounds of strife and fear. 
And shouts, and clashing arms, proclaim that war is 
here ! 

What deeds were done yon hill might soothly tell. 
Where he, the first, the morning-martyr, fell ;Q) 
What deeds were done there needs no gifted power 
To bring to memory in this -sacred hour ; — 
The pilgrims' children bend no servile knee ! — 
They freely tread the soil their fathers left them fi-ee. 

Old Massachusetts ! dear-loved name ! how oft 
The rude backwoodsman's honest heart grows soft 
As childhood's, when across his yearning soul 
The visions of his happy boyhood roll. 
Again he treads thy hills ; again the sound 
Of old, familiar voices breathes around 
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Duganne. 



POEMS OP BOYHOOD. 

Like music ia a dream ; again lie hears 
The babbling brooklet murmur in his ears, 
As if it called him back ; the nodding trees, 
That rock so lightly in the summer breeze, 
Seem beck'ning him beneath their happy shade ; — 
He sees them all — hill, valley, forest, glade ! 
He hears each much-loved sound ; the whippoorwill's 
Sad, melancholy music deeper thrills ; 
The lark's sweet voice swells near him, and the hum 
Of insects, and the many sounds that come. 
So softly mingled, from the woody dell, — 
The song of falling streams, — the tinkling bell 
Of home-returning flocks ; — ^he hears them all, — 
Deep in his soul the much-loved accents fall ; — 
And when the traveller at his humble door 
Appears, to claim his shelter and his store, 
His heart again its happy boyhood lives, — 
And, while, with kindly welcoming, he gives 
The ready hand, he cries, with heart elate, 
•God bless ye, stranger! hoAv 's the Old Bay State?" 

The " Old Bay State !" — The ocean wanderer, 
Whose callous heart naiight else might haply stir. 
Will fondly turn to thee, when Memory, true 
To Nature, brings, like life itself, to view. 
Each long-forgotten object, in the truth, 
The beauty, and the freshness of its youth, — 
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POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 



3y 




Ere the warm breathings of his lile, long past, 
Were frozen to thickest huze, by sorrow's wintry blast ! 

He sees them — each loved form : — the old dark wood; 
The rustic bowers, so beautiful, though rude ; 
The stream where oft he launched his tiny boat, 
Upon its sparkling wave in pride to iioat, 
And fancied that to rove the distant main 
Were joy — (alas ! he '11 ne'er dream thus again ;) 
The waterfall, where oft, in childish glee, 
He watched the w^aters leaping wild and free ; 
The old farm-house ; the temple, where the prayers 
Of simple hearts, untainted with the cares. 
The strifes, and woes of life, went up, — all these, 
With childhood's very eyes, his spirit sees ; 
And, from the cold realities of life. 
His soul reviews the hours when childhood's dreams 
were rife ! 



We love thee, Massachusetts ! for thou art 
Our mothei", and of our own selves a part ; 
We love the stern, unbent, unbending race 
"Wlio proudly own thy hills their dwelling-place ; 
Rough sons of toil are they — their lips untaught 
To check the passage of their honest thought; 
Untaught are they to bend the stubborn brow — 
Q 'Tis to the monai-ch Mind alone they bow ! 



ww^ 



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Duganne. 

POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 

God is above them, — Heaven's smile is leut, 
To teach their spirits Heaven's joj — content ! 
Their rural labors fill the quiet clay, 
And Tvhen the summer's sun has passed away, 
The cheerfal group, around their simple meal, 
Thank God for all, and what they utter, feel. 
The toil-knit limbs, that, sinewy and lithe, 
Held the firm plough or swayed the pond'rous scythe, 
Scattered the seed upon the furrowy plain. 
Or bound in glowing sheaves the golden grain, — 
Still, with the zeal that new exertion courts. 
Enlist, unwearied, in the evening's sports ; 
The merry jest goes round ; the ball is struck ; 
The quoit is hurled, or thrown the ringing duck ;Q 
Perchance his rustic flute the swain will trill, 
Or voice, that shows more minstrelsy than skill ; 
The clarinet is pitched an octave higher — 
The violin is tuned, for Sunday's choir; — 
And thus glides smoothly on the summer's eve, 
No gloom to cloud their brows — no care their hearts 
to grieve. 

Thus, too, when wintiy storms across the sky 
Rush swiftly, pass their hours as gaily by : 
The few light labors o'er, the village-school 
Receives the sturdy youth beneath its rule ; 
The startling task is conned, and conned again, 
Till some bright thought evolves the answer plain : 

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POEMS OP BOYHOOD. (1 1^1 

Then, freed at last, the full-grown urchins form 

In mimic battle 'mid the driving storm ; 

The well-pressed missile, hurled with practised force, 

]\Ieets manj^ a laughing visage in its course ; 

And reddened cheeks and snow-clad backs proclaim 

The lips and doirtis in this small field of fame. 



'Now, where the cheerful fire reflects the glow 
Of faces clouded by no trace of woe, — 
Bound by no rules of cold and polished life. 
Each heart with Nature's truthfulness is rife. 
Quick as the fancy foils the blameless word, 
(For by no carping critic's ear 'tis heard ;) 
Unknown, uurecked of, fashion's heartless mirth, 
Theirs is the gladness of the homestead hearth. 
The well-stuffed arm-chair, in the warmest side, 
Is placed for ^' Grrandsire" 'mid the circle wide ; 
The "oft-told tale" some urchin begs to hear. 
And wonders why the old man drops a tear ! — 
Climbs on his knee, and waits, with anxious look, 
To hear the story sad of "Bloody Brook ;"(^) 
Trembles in childish awe at Bunker's tale. 
Or at the name of Bennington grows pale ; 
"Weeps at the sufferings of that valiant baud 
Who fought and famished for their native land ; 
And (while with breathless awe his heart is thrill'd) 
Smiles through his tears, to hear — his " graudsire" was 
not killed ! 

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Duganne. 

POEMS OF BOYHDOD. 

K'or these alone their fireside sweets enjoy — 
The garrulous old man, the listening boy; — 
There, at the table scrupulously neat. 
The careful farmer pores his weekly sheet; 
The mother plies her knitting cheeringly. 
And prattles with the prattler at her knee; 
The blushing damsel, with coquettish grace, 
The plough-boy's nimble fingers strives to trace, 
As o'er his slate the pattering pencil glides, — 
And now subtracts with him, and now divides ; 
Till some dark problem (never guessed till now) 
Springs, like Jove's daughter, from a well-rubbed 
brow. 

Perchance some neighbor, in the game deep-lored, 
Drops in, to challenge forth the checquer-board ; 
The varied men are ranged in order due — 
A button here, or barley-corn, in lieu 
Of that long-lost, or this but lately gone, 
Till, all prepared, the dubious game goes on. 



Thus glide the hours — unless, perhaps, a guest — 
Some traveler, from the wide and wondrous "West, 
Or storm-tossed rover on the mighty main — 
Eeturn'd to view his much-loved home again, — 
A welcome seeks and finds beside the fii-e. 
And deals his lore to every heart's desire. 
356 







Poetical Works 

POKMS OF BOYUOOD. 

The youngsters, with dihited eyes, draw near 
New stories of the mystic deep to hear: 
Of bloody shark — of nioimtain whale — perchance 
Of phantom ship, or merman's merry dance ; 
Of ice-bergs, water-spouts, and marvels strange 
Those only meet who on the ocean I'ange ; — 
All these are told — with more than actor's skill — 
Till even the "grandsire" vows — " it beats old Bunker 
Hill." 

These, dear-loved Massachusetts ! these are thine — 
The joys that cluster round fair Freedom's shrine; 
The sunny joys, that light the care-worn breast — 
The quiet joys that yield the heart its rest: 
These are thy birth-right and thy children's dower — 
Thy glory aud thy strength, thy beauty and thy 
power ! 

Mother of Freedom ! from whose glowing breast 
Sprang the first nurture of the boundless West! 
Still, at the thunders of thy battle-hill, 
Iberia's slaves with uew emotions thrill ; 
Still do the echoings of thy war-cry float 
Where rings the trumpet of the Suliote ; 
Still, where the y^Egean laves the sacred shore. 
Thy name commingles with its ceaseless roar; 
Still, where Bozzaris mocked at tyrant's thrones. 
Thy Websteu's voice o'erleaps the bar of zones — 
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POEMS OF BOTHOOD. ^H* 

^ That mighty voice which panoplied the weak,(^) i^ 

S When, like a clarion, rang his pleadings for the c 
I Greek ! 



Siberia knows thee — where the imconquered Pole 
Lives iu the freedom of his chainless soul ; 
Where the bleak winds, iu mockery of his woe, 
Permit not even the exile's tears to flow, — 
Siberia's wilds have echoed to the name 
Of that fair State, where Freedom's altar-flame 
Blazed to the sky, the beacon-light of fame. 
And, mingled with the thought of Poland's fate — 
Mingled with his uuquenehed, undying hate 
Of Russia's tyrant, and of Eussia's crime, — 
Swells the high hope that lights all future time : — 
The hope that they who, first of all the world. 
Gave to the Pole his glorious flag, unfurled,(^) 
May hail that banner, beaming from afar, 
Above a rescued land — above a conquered Czar. 



Avaria knows thee, and her despot-king 

Plucks at the lessons from thy breast that 

spring :{') 
The glorious seed that ripened in thy soil 
Yields generous harvest to the stranger's toil ; 
The deathless knowledge-tree thou gavest root, 
Even in a tyrant's land has borne immortal fruit. v ' 







Poetical Works. 



POEMS OP BOYHOOD. 

Old Massachusetts ! fare thee ever well ! 



-^?@- 



Thou hast in thy old hills a niightj^ spell, 

To draw thj' distant children ; and their hearts — 

Or be thc}- mingling in the crowded marts 

Of Europe's cities, or on Afric's plains 

Of burning sand, or 'mid the crumbling fanes 

Of pagan Asia, — still will yearn for thee — 

Home of their childhood ! home of Liberty ! 

And shall the glorious Fourth's eftulgent light 

Behold them on the Alpine mountain height. 

Or ploughing 'mid the waves of polar seas, — 

Still will their anthems mount upon the breeze ; 

Their hearts will hail fair Freedom, and the spot 

Where Freedom's soul abides — where slaves are 

not ; — 
Where stands the battle Hill — the time-worn Hall ;(^) 
Where Freedom woke to life, and burst was Slavery's 

thrall ! 



9, 



rS'i^e/T — 



--^fN9<lfj) 



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POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 




THE NATIONS. 



HARP of young Freedom ! whose far-echoing wires 
Thrill to the music of th' eternal choirs ! 
Swift, at thy summons, from their silent sleep 
"Within my heart, the long-pent thoughts will leap ; 
Mingling with mine own soul, each seraph-note 
Bids it in holiest numbers upward float. 
ISTow, in soft, silver accents, down the stream 
Of Time — like music in a tmlight dream — 
My spirit hears an echo of the strain 
That rose from hill and vale, fi'om wood and plain, 
When the young morning-stars together sang, 
And with a joyful shout the laughing mountains 
rang. 



It breathes of Freedom ! Freedom's joyous birth 
Lent its first accents to the silent earth ; 
Taught the rude savage of his viewless soul, 
And bade it fi-om his lips in language roll ; 
Clothed with a mighty power the rushing throng 
ll Of thoughts, until his heart gushed forth in song. 

m^ '" 





Poetical Works. 



P^ 



Mankind was nursed in liberty! the warm, 
Young heart of Being drew its primal form 
From Freedom's mould; the deep and noble draught 
Of mouutain-airs ; the leaping rills, that laughed 
In wantonness of joy ; the eagle's flight. 
Piercing, impetuous, through the walls of light; 
The wild, deep forest-voice ; the thunder's tone, — 
Woke in man's emulous soul the music of his own. 

Nor hush'd the strain ! around each mountain brow 
Thunders and swells th' exulting anthem now; 
Amid our vales the voiceful music thrills — 
Across our plains — upon our templed hills ; 
O'er our wild waters, where the morning-beam 
Wakes, 'mid the breakers' roar, the soaring eagle's 
scream. 

Bird of our land ! whose bright, undazzled gaze 
Drinks in the fiery day-star's burning rays ! 
Now, as thy broadening pinions cleave the skies, 
Hearest thou not the exulting anthem rise? 
Lo ! with his mid eye sweeping earth and wave, 
Circling, he mounts the orient arcliitrave ; 
Amid the heavens he marks thy glorious flags, 
Freedom! waving from the mountain-crags; 
A million meteors, flashing in the light; 
A million voices, swelling from each height; 
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POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 






A million hearts strained up ; a nation's song 
Arising on the breeze in accents strong ; — 
The voice of California's boundless woods ; 
The surging swell of Mississippi's floods ; 
ISTiagara's deep-toned chorus, and the roar 
Of Ocean's hymn, along thy roclcy shore, 
From Florida's far reef to ice-bound Labrador ! 



'Tis thine own land, fair Freedom ! where anew 
Thy phoenix-form burst forth to mortal view ! 
From the new earth upspringing to the skies. 
Here didst thou greet the world's awaking eyes ! 
On the wild mountain-breeze thy clarion rang, 
And forth, to arms ! an answering nation sprang. 
Then, o'er th' Atlantic, at the mighty roll 
Of Freedom's war-drums, shrank each tyrant's soul ; 
In their dark caves the despots of the earth 
Heard the deep shout that told of Freedom's birth ! 
Trembling they heard it, and their golden thrones 
Shook, at the echoings of those deep war-tones ; 
Slaves heard it, too ; beneath his iron thrall. 
Beat the stirred bosom of the wondering Gaul ; 
Italia's steel, within the pale moonlight. 
Glittered, impatient, for th' avenging fight; 
Hispania's serfs forgot their servile chain. 
And from their panting souls swelled forth an answer- 
ing strain ! 

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J" 

POEMS OF BOYHOOD. ' ^~i 

Leave we the freedom-tree, to mark, awhile, W^ 

W • w 

M Where the dark upas-growth of power and guile y 

i Poisons the fountains of the olden lands, 

And twines its leaves in soul-enchaining bands. 
The Nations are around me ! in their might, 
Monarch and priest sweep on before my sight ; — 
Sweep on in crimson glory, o'er the wrecks 
Of truth — o'er gasping hearts and bending necks ! 

I may not now, with dulcet Pleasure's touch, 
Strike the soft harp with tenderness o'ermuch ; 
ITot now the strains of love shall wake its strings, 
Nor song of dove-eyed Peace around it flings ; 
No whispered Fancy in sweet music floats: 
Stern, truthful Clio strikes the jarring notes ; — 
Across the crashing octave of all time — 
The world's sweet Infancy, its Youth, its Prime ! 

Far in the Vista sinks my soul ! — Back ! back ! 

"Wliere the in\dsible ages leave no track ! 

Back, where from Babel's gates outpoured her 

crowds ; 
Back, where old Baalbek's temples smote the 

clouds ; 
Back, to bright Nineveh — to Tadmor's walls. 
The shrines of Thebes, and Memphis' swarming 

halls. 

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Duganne. =4^^^ 

POEMS OP BOYHOOD. U pi 

Forth to the day once more — the Present's day ! 
Phantom-like flit the shrines and thrones away ; 
Behold ! upon the desert's burning heaps, 
"Where round yon fallen tower the adder creeps ; 
Behold ! amid that temple's ruined pride — 
O'er the crushed altar — where the jackals glide ; 
Mark ye where once a woman's daring hand 
Swept the invading despot from her land, — (*) 
There the green lizard creeps, the scorpion crawls, 
Around the levelled shrines, the shivered walls ; 
Behold ! where Tyoth's gaze explored the skies,(^) 
The wandering nomad's humble tents arise ; 
And where the sunbeam Memnon's strain awoke('") 
The hemlock's deadly roots a desert fountain choke. 

And this the lesson — that the might of all 
That man fi'om vast Creation's fields can call; — 
All that he proudly rears — must pass away ! 
The monarch of Creation is Decay ! 

Egypt ! the Womb and Tomb of mightiest lore ! 
Egypt ! whose giant guardians, gazing o'er 
Thy desert plains, bring back the buried Past, 
"With all its awful shadows round it cast ! — 
Say, did thy Pharaohs from their cerements leap, 
"When Gaul's deep thunder broke upon their sleep ? 
Thro' the thick-gathered mists of withered years, 
Saw they the Corsican's embattled spears? 

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^ Poetical Works. 

POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 

Ah ! vain wore thunders of united zones — 
Vain the worUl-cchoing requiem of thrones — 
To burst the sleep of death that over all 
Thy Memory and thy Might hangs like a funeral 
pall ! 

Rome ! thou vast shade of what was once a world, 
Down from thy mighty throne in madness hurled !— 
Still doth thy giant heart convulsive start, 
Like some huge corpse beneath the surgeon's art ; 
Still, 'mid the mould of his self-hollowed grave, 
Throbs, and leaps up, and pants, th' awaking 

slave ! — 
And, like the fiery mountain's deep-drawn breath. 
Ere, with a mighty heave, it vomits death, — 
In thy swelled soul have sunk thy woes and 
shames ; — 
Shall they not burst, Rome! burst forth in Free- 
tlom's flames? 

Ay ! like a lava torrent— o'er the fanes 

And palaces of those who forged thy chains ! 

Ay ! like a lava-torrent, sweeping down 

Cross, crook, and mitre, — sceptre, throne, and 

crown ! — 
Till, from the burning fields, to greet the skies. 
Freedom's new Coliseum o'er buried thrones shall 

rise in A 

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Duganne. 



POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 



Where is Germania ? — ^from their slumbers deep, 
"Will not thy buried sires start forth to weep ? 
Liveth the spirit of old Herrmann now, 
When the stiff German necks in bondage bow ? — 
Bondage ! a deadher bondage, than the yoke 
Of Eoman power thy bold Arminius broke.C^) 
ISTot now with iron chains thy tyrants bind : 
Their manacles enwreath th' awaking mind ; 
Their yoke is on the soul, to bind it down, 
Till its dull gaze is level with a crown. 
In thy deep heart, Germany ! whose life 
With god-like aspirations still is rife, — 
Whose heaven-encircling vision breaks the clouds 
Of Time, and dazzles Ages from their shrouds ; 
In thy deep heart, 0, lives there not a gleam. 
Of German light, in radiance now to beam ? — 
Then, from thy long-bowed soul the fetters shake ! 
From thy long sleep of death indignant wake ! 
Cast on thine Herrmann's shield of Truth and Eight ! 
Shout Winkehied's loud summons to the fight ! — 
" Make way for Liberty !" and burst the slavish night ! 

Spain ! must thy wrongs through all thy being last ? 
Spain ! are thy golden days forever passed ? 
Shall not a Cid spring up,('^) to lead thee on, 
Till chains are snapped and Freedom's peace is won '! 
Shall not some new Pelaj'o's war-cry swell ?(") 
Some new Alphonso rise,(") thy foes to quell? 
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POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 



If ot till the last crowned robber bites the dust ; 
Not till is stemmed the tide of priestl}- lust ; 
Not till the cowl aud ermine crown the pile 
Of Freedom's altar-ofleriug, — shall her smile 
Shiue forth on thee, Hispania ! not till then, 
The knife shall seek its sheath, aud peace walk forth 
again ! 

England ! proud despot of the chainless sea — 
Long have the palsied nations beut to thee ; 
England! whose banners on each ocean float; 
Whose language, from the cannon's brazen throat 
Ai'ouud the wide earth crashing, speaks thy might, 
And drowns the pleading voice of ruth and 

right,— 
Lo ! thou art highest in the mount of fame ! 
Nations have paled and perished at thy name! 
Still on thy temples beams the fadeless crowu 
Of thy unperishing and old renown ; 
Still on thy proud escutcheon brightly beam 
The warrior's boast, the patriot's glowing theme : 
Forth from their glorious graves, a mighty throng, 
Pour thy old dauntless chivahy along ; — 
Up, from the burning plains of Palestine ; 
Up, from the borders of the rushing Rhine ; 
Up, from the banks of Guadalquivir's tide, 
Fi'om Gaul's broad battle-graves, and from the ocean 

wide. 

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SIS OF liOYHOOD. 




A graud and proud array ! the iron race 
Who gave thee 'mid the mightiest a place. 
Yet vain their glorious and far-spreading fame ; 
Vain is the memory of each valiant name ; 
Vain are thy trophies and thy laurel- wreath, 
To shield thee, England! from dishonor's death! 
The memory of thy tyrant lust obscures 
The brightness of a thousand Agincourts; 
Thy grasping tyranny, thy broken trust, 
"Will shroud a thousand Cressys in the dust ! 
Ireland's lire-blasted fields, and ruined heaiihs, 
Shall dim the lustre of thy triumph-paths ; 
India's crushed millions, in a wailing cry. 
From many a crimson death-field rising high, 
Shall drown the trumpet -note that Victory 
blew 
O'er Nile's ensanguined wave, or deathful Wa- 
terloo. 



Poland ! thou art not fall'n ! thy tyi'ants' wrong. 
Heaped round thee, shall become an segis strong, 
To shelter thee when beats the storm once 

more ; 
Poland ! thine iron ordeal shall be o'er. 
By the unnumbered death-cries that arose 
Where the bright Vistula in stillness fiows ! 
By all the woes of Warsaw's martyr'd band, 
Who last for Freedom raised the battle-brand ! 
368 





, p Poetical Works. 



By glorious Sobieski's deatliless name ! 
And bj' those dear and patriot souls who came 
To our new freedom-feast — Kosciusko brave, 
And HE who found with freedom but a grave l{^'^) 
By these, and by the uncounted pray'rs that rise, 
Unceasingly, to chill Siberia's skies ! — 
Poland shall live— shall rise ! Mighty God ! 
Hear thou those soul-sent pray'rs, and break the 
oppressor's rod ! 



A dark and ominous cloud is in the North ; 
From Russia's wastes a prophet-voice goes forth ! — 
Goes forth to warn old Europe — but in vain ! 
Yet what has been may, haply, be again ! 
Time was, when, o'er the necks of nations tranc'd 
In slavery, the Assyrian's charger pranc'd ;{") 
Time was, when he who overran one world 
"Wept that his conquering banner must be furled ; 
Time was, when on the huge old Alpine rock 
The Carthaginian's thunders spent their shock ; 
Time was, when Roma's matricidal son 
Leaped madly o'er his country's Rubicon ; — 
And where is old Assyria ? where is Greece ? 
Say, did the sun of Carthage set in peace ? 
Where is old Rome? O Nations! know ye this! — 
They lived — they rose — they fell! Time was — 
Time is ! 

369 T 




Duganne. 



POEMS or BOYHOOD. 

And such may be thy fate, O Europe ! thus, 

eu swarming from his deserts pours the Euss, 
Thine ears may hear, too late, the iron tread 
Of Asia's hordes above thy countless dead ! 
Ye saw when Gaul's defenceless capital 
Heard on her parapet the Ukraine-call ; 
Ye saw when, o'er the ravaged fields of France, 
Gleamed in the reddened sky the Cossack's lance, — 
And ye may mark, from Moscow's crimson fire, 
A fiame enwreath your homes in one red funeral-pyre ! 

Back to our Freedom-home ! — our souls again 
Join in a happy nation's triumph-strain ! 
Our throbbing hearts, in cadence with the sound 
Of trump, and drum, and cannon booming round ! — 
Our soaring spirits, on the golden air, 
Springing to jDlaut a star-lit banner there ! 
Joining the anthem, gush our swelling-hearts, — 
Freedom her glorious life to every soul imparts ! 

God ! what mockery is this to him, 
"Whose eyes with death's approaching vail are dim — 
The restless sufferer, on whose burning brain 
Crashes the torture of each martial strain ; — 
The fettered wretch, within the dungeon gloom, 
Hears the glad echo round his living tomb — 
Hears the shrill trump arising wild and high. 
And clanks his chains, in hopeless agony! 
370 




Poetical Works. ^isv-f 



P0EM3 OP BOYHOOD. 



The Slave, too, hears it — 'ueath a cloudless sky, 

He gazes round — hright banners meet his eye ! 

He listens — clarion notes, upon the air. 

Speak to his bosom — Liberty is there ! 

Shout, shout aloud ! 't is Freedom's birth-day ! — 

shout ! 
Wliat ! mute ? the lash shall bring thy plaudits out ! 
The lash shall make thee hail our Freedom's name — 
Freedom and Justice twined — Columbia's lasting 

fame. 

The first, faint streaks of Morning's mellowed light 
Are checkering the sky — the shades of Night 
Are fading into sunlight — hill and vale 
In laughing loveliness the day-star hail ; — 
A stately form has reached yon mountain-steep, 
Around whose base the circling waters leap; 
His arm is raised to heaven — his bright black eye 
Fixed sorrowingly upon the changing sky ; — 
And now it falls — across the wide-spread plain, 
The fields all bending with their shining grain. 
The waving woods that rock in living green. 
The streams that leap and flash in silvery sheen, — 
In one wide, sweeping glance, his spirit views the 
scene. 

Hark! from the valleys; — 'tis the signal-gun— 
Freedom, rejoicing, hails her natal sun ; 





Duganne. 




POEMS (3F BOYHOOD. 

Bright swords are flashing back the morning-beam; 
Star-woven banners fi-om each hill-top stream. 
Child of a murdered race ! swells now thy soul, 
Responsive to the strains that round thee roll ? 
Leapeth thy heart when Freedom's shouts arise- 
When Freedom's meteor banners kiss the skies ? 
Shout forth thy gladness, red man ! let thy voice 
With Freedom's accents blend ! with Freedom's sons 
rejoice ! 



His voice is raised — above the trumpet-tone, 
The drum-beat, and the cannon-peal ; — alone, 
Above the shout of Freedom's joy that tells, 
In its own strength upon the breeze it swells. 
But not with joy ! a curse — a gasping prayer 
For swift and sure revenge ! With bosom bare, 
With lifted eyes and arms, behold him stand — 
The avenging curse invoking on our land ! 
A curse upon the white man's tj-rant race — 
A curse upon his home and dwelling-place — 
A curse upon his children and his land, — 
War, pestilence, and blight — the battle and the brand ! 

That curse is ringing still ! and now, again, 
Comes the low murmur of the Slave's "Amen!" 
Will ye not hear it — ye, Avhose voices guide 
Our counsels and our country — ei'e the tide 
Of ruin sweep ye from your pitch of pride ? 
372 






Poetical Works. 



POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 





When the Okl World is riveu, and despot-sway 
O'er the rent states shall hold its crushiug way ; 
When the dark Russian's vast and pall-like power 
O'er Europe's prostrate monarchies shall lower ; 
When Asia's hofdes upon the tide of war, 
Shall hear the fettei-s of the conquering Czar ; — 
What hope may cheer the hosonis of the free ? 
Where shall the Nations look, Columbia! but to 

TUEE ? 

Here — in the mighty West, my country— here. 
Freedom to her omnipotent God may rear 
Her proudest temple ! Here, in grandeur nurs'd, 
Till on the world His word shall bid her burst, 
Let Freedom's soul abide ! And when the cloud 
Of tyrant-power the Nations shall enshroud ; 
And when the measure of their servile woes 
The cup of Retribution ovei-flows ; — 
Forth on the world once more her form shall beam. 
To change the tide of grief to love's illumined 
stream ! 



And ye around me, whom no despot binds — 

Rich in the freedom of your youthful minds— 

The time may come when your firm hearts shall bar 

The dreadful progress of the tj-rant's car — 

The tyrant Ignorance, whose iron hand 

The free and generous may alone withstand ; y- 

?7} 





Duganne. 

POEMS or BOYHOOD. 

The time may come when yonder column'd hill 
In Memory's heart alone a place shall fill ; 
The time will come when ye, who hail this day, 
Even like its sunlight shall have passed away; 
But, onward to the fight — the glorious strife ! 
Buckle your armor for the field of Life ! 
Let your awakening souls, sustained in God, 
Cast the enlightening spirit-food abroad ; 
Quaff the rich draught from Learning's mighty 

fount. 
And on the wings of Knowledge heavenward 

mount ! 
Then shall the trumpet of the glorious West 
Startle the world from slavery's sluggish rest; 
And, like old Jericho, at the mighty sound, 
The conquered towers of Crime shall crumble to the 

ground ! 






Poetical Works. 



FOEMS OF BOYHOOD. 



''FRANGAS NGN FLECTES. 

I WO ULD not weep, nor breathe a sigh, 
Though all the world should frown on me ; 
I 'd boldly stem the wintry sea, 
And tempest high. 

I would not teach my stuliborn neck 
To bend beneath a great one's frown, 
Nor bid mine own free soul bow do-wn 
At monarch's beck. 

No servile strain I 'd teach ray tongue, 
To win the ear of mighty ones ; 
Whate'er within my spirit burns 
High up is flung. 

And should they smile — as smile they may — 
Should I their scorn and hatred feel — 
I 'd wrap my tortured heart in steel : 
Proud, careless, gay ! 

Ay ! though the power of earthly wo 
Should crush my frame in agonj-^. 
My SOUL, unbent, proud, stern, and free. 
Would scorn the blow ! 
375 




Duganne. 



POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 



But if a soft, sweet voice sliould call ; 
A kindly heart should throb with mine ; 
A gentle spirit round me twine, — 
Then, tears might fall. 



The tears that sorrow ne'er could wring. 
The sighs that pain might waken not — 
The plaint that hate and scorn ne'er brought — 
Love's look would bring-! 




BLUE EYES. 



THOSE eyes of blue ! those eyes of blue ! 
How many a beaming glance I knew, 
Ere sorrow's cloud came o'er me; 
Ah, me ! methiuks they darker grew, 
As Fortune's favors fled before me. 

Those eyes of blue ! those eyes of blue ! 
They 've lost their mild, cerulean hue — 
They 've lost their beaming glances ; 
Ah, me ! they darkly gleam, — adieu ! 
False eyes, that change when gloom advances. 



376 





Poetical Works 






POEMS OF BOTHOOD. 




B ELLS. 

YU melancholy bells! 
Ye know not why ye 're ringing — 
See not the tear-cli'ops springing, 
From sorrows that ye bring to mind, 
Ye melancholy bells ! 

Oh ! doleful is your sound ! 
Your clear and plaintive knelling 
Some sorrow-tale is tolling ; 
Ye 're breaking now the hopes that twined 

A mourner's heai-t-striugs round. 

And jQ will ring again ! 

And ye will ring to-morrow! 

Yet not in notes of sorrow ; 

But with a joyful wedding-peal 

Oh ! ye will tremble then. 

And thus ye will ring on ! — 
To-day in tones of sadness ; 
To-morrow, peals of gladness ; — 
Ye '11 sound them both, yet never feel 

A thrill of either one. 

377 



-=e^ 




I 



Duganne. ^^^, 



POEMS OP BOYHOOD. 

r 



Ye ever-changing bella ! 
Oh ! many ye resemble, 
Who ever throb and tremble, 
Yet never know what moves them so, — 
Ye ever-changina; bells ! 



EVENING. 

H VHNINCr has come ! the distant hills grow dim 
In lengthened shadows, and the vesper-hymn 
Of flute-voiced warblers falls upon mine ear 
In thrilling melody ; — ^yet, lingering here, 
I meditate. The setting sun's last ray 

Falls mildly-brilliant over wood and stream ; 
'Tis gone ! but mark the day-god's golden way. 

Can fair Italia's boasted sunsets beam 
With richer glories ? All the western sky 

Seems lit by flame ! with living fire each cloud 
Is tipped ! the glorious brilliancy 

Of L'is shines in all, and lights the proud. 
Majestic city's domes that rise below, 
Till spire and turret high with answering splendor glow. 



¥ 



5>^ 



378 

-^^ 




Poetical Works 



POEMS OF BOYHOUD. 



THE FALLING STAR. 

WHITHER, now, thou wandering star ! 

Across the heavens gleaming? — 
From all thy sister-lights afar 

Thine errant soul is streaminsr. 




Thy meteor- form ne'er met my gaze, 
Amid the studded heaven, 

Until I marked thy flitting rays 
Adowu the azure driven. 

Ah, me ! a fitting emhlem thou, 
star ! so hriglit and fleeting ! 

Of sonls that shed a parting glow 
"When FIRST our spirits greeting. 



k 



The brightest and the holiest — 
Who all our gloom might banish- 

Alas ! we know not they exist. 
Until they gleam — to vanish. 



I 



Vv^,^ Duganne. -=4^^^ 

'Jp\ POEMS OP BOYHOOD. (\ Hi 



f 




HEART-SEEKING. 

SADLY, ia the city's crowd, 
Wanders the stranger child ; 
'Mid the people's murmurs loud, 
Lonely and wild. 

Swiftly by, the people pass, 
Jostle the weeping boy — 
In the hurried, heartless mass, 
Searching for joy. 

Sadly prays the sobbing child. 

Shelter and love to gain — 

Plaintively, in accents mild ; — 

All, all in vain ! 

Tremblingly a music-voice 

Greeteth his listening ear — 

Bidding his 3'oung heart rejoice. 

Soothing his fear. 

Lo ! the maiden's lily hands 

Twine his dark, wavy hair ; 
"Weaving glossj^ raven bauds 
On his brow fair. 
380 



T 



Poetical Works. 

POEMS OF Rovnnoo. 

Sinking on the maiden's breast, 

Smiles he his soul away — 
Brightly as when in the "West 
Sinks the sun's ray. 

But an angel form remains, 

Viewless beside the maid — 
Whispers her in music strains, 
'Mid twilisrht shade. 



Sv^-f 




;-aS>' 



HEART SENSES. 

IT met me — that cold and withering look — 

Yet my brow was still unclouded ; 
Not a moment the smile my lip forsook. 
And no gloom mine eyes enshrouded. 
My song rang forth, and my laugh rose high ; 
But I saw that look with my keart's own eye. 

It fell from thy lips— that chilling word — 
Wlieu my soul with joy was teeming ; 
And }'ou dreamed not that by me 't was heard, 

For mine eye was bright and beaming. ' 

You heard no sigh, and you saw no tear, — | 

But that cold word reached my heart's own ear. ^ 



^ 



Duganne. 



jeOEMS OP BOYHOOD. 



• MIDNIGHT. 

MIBNICrHT upon the waters ! Heaven is gemm'd 
With all the brilliant garniture of night ; 
And the waves dance, in liquid radiance bright, 
As though the rays from Peris' wings reflected 
Elash'd through the crystal element, and stream'd 
Upon its surface in effulgent light. 
My boat glides onward, silently — directed 
By the invisible spirits of air, who throng 
The viewless space, and mildly, sweetly fan 
With soft and beautiful wings the brow of man. 
The moon upon the lake her rays is flinging, 
And calmly greets me as I glide along. 
And seek with curious gaze her face to scan ; 
The music of the waterfall is ringing. 

Mellowed by distance in my listening ear — 
As 't were the warble of some wood-ujTnph fair, 
Rising in notes melodious on the air. 
All else is hush'd ! save when, in whispers stealing, 
A low and mystic minstrelsy I hear — 
Like earthly echoes of some seraph's pray'r — 
That soothes the soul to calm and holy feeling. 





J82 A 



=^ 




Poetical Works. 



POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 



SONG OF LIFE. 




m 



so MOTE it be! 
If sorrow press our sinking souls — 
If misery's tempest o'er us rolls, — 
If wrecked we are on Fortune's shoals, — 

So mote it be ! 
This merry strain the sexton trolls, 

And so troll we. 

So mote it be ! 
Is friendship false? is love betrayed? 
Our being's sunshine turned to shade ? 
Do all our joys but bloom to fade ? — 

So mote it be ! 
The woe upon our hearts is laid : 

We cannot flee. 

So mote it be ! 
Shall death, in fearful guise, draw near. 
And turn our brightest hopes to fear, 
And fi-iends shall o'er us shed no tear, — 

So mote it be ! 
Through life our souls are wearied here — 

In death are free. 
383 






Duganne. 

FORMS OF BOYHOOD. 

So mote it be ! 
If there in truth should be a heaven, 
If there our sins are all forgiven, 
If there our hearts no more are riven, — 

So mote it be ! 
To port, at last, we shall be driven. 

From life's rough sea. 



AFTER A THUNDER-STORM. 

SOFT blows the freshen'd air ! the gloomy clouds 
That hung above the mistj'^ mount are breaking ; 

The birds are bursting fi-om their leafy shrouds. 
And hill and vale with minstrelsy are waking, 
With gushing rivulets sweet music making. 

Earth breathes again ! for she has cast away 
The nightmare Tempest, and in sunlight basks, 
To drink its warmth, while kindly Nature tasks 

Her art, to bring, beneath her gentle sway, 

Our late-complaining souls to smile in gladness. 

Thus, gladd'ning every bosom with his rays. 

And bidding every tongue to shout his praise. 

And drying Nature's tear-drops in his blaze. 

The happy Sun can wake mankind from sadness. 



384 




fmis. 



jii^_ 



Poetical Works. , n ^ ® 



POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 



SLEEP-LOVE. 




WHERE is the maid with dark-brown tresses, 
Ever with me in my dreams ? — 

Sweetly her form my spirit blesses, 
Greets my heart in sunny gleams. 



In my lone soul her voice is thrilling, 

Like an angel's whispering ; 
Softly it cometh — passion stilling — 

Dove-like, " healing on its wing." 

Darkly, and yet in love, are bending 

Over me those angel eyes ; 
Love and sorrowing joy are blending 

In their holy mysteries. 

Clasp me within thine arms my love, now ; 

Is it all a dream — a dream ? 
Angels ! gaze ye from above, now ! 

Ye my love's own sister seem. 



38s 



■r^ 



'^^ 





Duganne. 



POEMS OP BOYHOOD. 



TOMB-FLOWERS. 



WRAT boots it to the dead— 
The marble mausoleum's sculptured woe, 
That mocks the cold and silent one below — 
The labored epitaph — chiselled praise 
That greets so chillingly the mourner's gaze- 

What boots it to the dead ? 



What recks the broken heart 
Of all the tinsel pride, the splendor bright, 
That falls like ice upon the mourner's sight? 
Of all the pomp, the glitter, and the glare. 
Of life's brief pleasures, fanciful as fair. 

What recks the broken heart ? 



JSV-f 



TiJ, 



Oh ! rear no massy tomb ! 
But let the friends — the loving ones — strew flowers ! 
The roses that I loved in life's sad hours ; 
And let their tears, if, haply, tears be shed. 
Bedew the roses on my lowly bed — 

But rear no massy tomb ! 
386 



>:^->- 



^'^'''^A-i 



Poetical Works. 

POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 

Oh ! deck my grave with flowers ! 
The cold, dark stone would weigh my spirit down ; 
'Twould sink like Love beneath Misfortune's frown ; 
But flowers— sweet flowers— deep-rooted in my heart, 
"Would have their life in me, and be of me a part. 

Then deck my grave with flowers ! 



SUMMER-MUSINGS. 



SUNLIGST around me daiiceth! shadows creep 
Across my sight, and vanish; balmy airs 
Float up and down around me; gentle flowers, 
Green, waving trees, and golden-plumaged birds, 
Painted and fanciful butterflies, and bees, 
Buzzing and circling round ;— all summer life ! 
All that can make the forest beautiful- 
All that may speak of joy— is round me now. 
There is a little brooklet at my feet, 
Purling and whispering, as if its breast 
Labored with some huge secret, which it fViin 
Would tell to me. And there, beneath the bank 
All green and mossy, where the willows hang 
In beautiful festoons— within that nook — 
The silver-pinioned trontling glideth slow. ^^ 

387 

rS^^^ ^^^^ 



-.Q=- 



Duganne. 

POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 

Yonder, upon a fall'n and mossy oak, 
That once in majesty o'ertopped the scene, 
Creepeth a lazy caterpillar, with a dull 
And measured listlessness. Perchance, as now 
"With slow, monotonous march, he crawleth on, 
He dreameth with a trusting hopeftilnesa 
Of light and beauty in his crysalis-birth ; 
And so plods perseveringly along. 
Sustained and strengthened. 

May I learn from him 
To hear this caterpillar load of life, 
Until from heaven shall fall my spmt-wings ! 




THE SWORD OF WASHINGTON, 



jSjnd fhanexin's staff. 




iVOr as a battle-gift, 

"We grasp our chieftain's sword, — 
IsTot in the combat to uplift, 
To light the battle's stormy rift. 

Where Freedom's blood is poured. 
"We hail thee, O thou warrior-blade ! 

Of brighter days the sign — 
Like that which armed the Gallic maid, 
Wliose hand the rushing foeman stayed, 

With courage all divine. 




\m 



Poetical Works. 

POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 

Sword of the mighty Dead, 

Thy light shall guard our laud 
Aud, even as the meteor dread, 
That flashes round the Cherub's head, 

Shall blast each foeman's hand. 
Sword ! thou art Freedom's chosen guest. 

In her own festal hall ; 
At her right hand, in triumph, rest ; 
Thy poiut at each dark traitor's breast, 

"Who would his land enthrall. 




Hail ! falchion heaven-sent ! 

That armed our sti'uggling land ! 
Hail ! pilgrim-staif on which she leant, 
Till Salem's shining battlement 

Her eye in gladness scanned. 
And, till that Sword from out its sheath 

Shall leap — that Staff to sever- 
So long around our hearts shall wreathe 
Bright Freedom's chain— her accents breathe 

In holy tones forever! 



3^- 



389 





^^— 



Duganne. 



POEMS OP BOYHOOD. 



TO A FRIEND. 

LEA VU me not, thou brightest one ! 

All is joy when thou art near ; 
Thou canst teach my soul to shun 

Paths of gloom and thoughts of fear, 

I am like the cloud of night, 
Wrapped in gloom and mystery; 

Thou the beaming morning light, 
Causing all its gloom to flee. 

I am like the airy kite. 

Soaring in the sky above, — 

Guided in my lofty flight 
By the thread of thy sweet Love ; — 




Ah ! should fate the thread divide, 
That connects my heart with thine, 

Wavering, then, without a guide. 
Darkness and despair are mine ! 



390 



i 



§»» 



Poetical Works. 



FOEMS OF BOYHOOD. 



-=^ 



TO A FRIEND IN HEAVEN. 



WU think of thee ! 
In the lone midnight hour, when all around 
Is hushed in slumber — when no waking sound 
Disturbs the solemn silence — 0, 't is then, 
When midnight's pall hangs darkly o'er the glen, 

We think of thee! 

We weep for thee ! 
Wten in sad memory's glass we see thy form, 
As once we saw thee, when, with pressure warm, 
Thy hand was clasped in friendship's close embrace; 
And, as each well-remembered line we trace, 

We weep for thee ! 



We miss thee, too ! 
Miss thee at evening, in thy usual seat, 
Amid the social circle — miss thy feet 
In all the walks of life where thou didst stray, 
And as we tread, without thee, each loved way, 

We miss thee, too ! 

39' 



■■-4^ 




Duganne. 



POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 

Yet, rest thee now ! 
We would not call thee from thy spirit-home, 
To this dull earth ; we would not bid thee roam 
Once more the thorny paths of mortal life, — 
But, fi.'ee from earthly woe, and earthly strife. 

Yet, rest thee now ! 





THE UNSTRUNG LUTE. 

ALAS! my heart is like a lute — 

A lute, unused, unstrung ; 
Its melody is hushed, and mute 

The chords that erewhile I'ung ! 

Yet there is one can bid it wake 
To life and joy once more — 

One gentle hand the spell might break. 
And bid its sleep be o'er ! 

Alas ! that hand strikes not its strings. 

The lute forgotten lies — 
Its chords are snapped ! — no more it rings ! 

The lute, unvalued, dies ! 



392 




•'5^f 



i 



5S 



'JUi 



Poetical Works. 



POKMS OF BOYHOOD- 



TO MY BOOT. 

BOOT! that, trodden under foot, 
Seekest not to change thy fate ; — 

Happ3' art thou, lowly boot ! 
Shining in thj^ humble state. 

In thy patient usefulness, 

Guardest thou my feet from ill ; 

Though full heavily I press, 
Uncomplaining art thou still. 

Oft the foot of Vanity 

Teachest thou a lesson meet — 
Yet no malice lives in thee, 

Guardian of the tender feet ! 

Even as upon thy form 

Cast they now a covering black, 
So the clouds of earthlj^ storm 

Darken aye the good man's track. 

Even as the driving brush 
Rubbeth roughly over thee, 

So the heavy tempests rush 
O'er the good man's destiny. 
393 




(5^ 



^^ 





Duganne. 

POEMS OF EOTHOOU. 

Yet, as now each rougher blow 
Makes thy form appear more bright, 

So the storms of earthly woe 

Clothe the good man's soul in light. 

Fare thee well, my humble boot ! 

Even thou canst waken thought ; — 
Lowly though thou art — and mute — • 

Yet thou hast a lesson taught. 



ssrf 




TO MY CIGAR. 



BLUSS thee, friend ! — as now, in wreaths as- 



Twineth thy smoke a garland round my brow; 
Even as those wreaths with Heaven's airs are 
blending. 
So would my thoughts ascend in stillness now! 

Even as tb^- folds are firmly knit together, 

So are the hearts that holy Love unites. 
And as thy smoke ascends in fragrant ether. 

Mount their true thoughts to soar in Heaven's 

Jieights. A\ 

^ (U5 




Poetical Works. 



POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 




-^ As to the ground, unnoticed, falls thine ashes, 
> So shall descend unholy thoughts to earth, 

j While, in the light of Virtue's spirit-flashes. 

Upward will soar the thoughts of purer birth. 

Even as the living element, which fires thee. 
Sends from thy form its fragrancy above — 

Even as its influence alone inspires thee, — 
So is the soul alone inspired by Love ! 

Ah ! if the living flame be from thee banished, 
Where is the fragrance — where the soaring cloud? 

Thus is the soul fi'om which true Love is banished. 
Darksome and icy cold amid the crowd. 

So, as the breath, which sends thy smoke to 
Heaven, 

And as the fire which gives its breath to thee, — 
! may the breath of God to me be given ! — 

O ! may the flame of Love illumine me ! 



EPITAPH ON A POET. 

MOCKED by the world, his spirit passed away; 
Body and soul were starved ; 
A This massy stone is raised above his clay — 

■i) Elaboratel}' carved ! ^; 



^j^ 395 



Cf) 



;;q=- 



Duganne. 



POEJIS OF BOYHOOD. 



AMEN 





TO the mariuer's miduiglit pray'r, 
As he paceth the rolling deck ; 
As he treadeth the parting wreck ; 
God ! thou art there ; 
Amen ! 

To the desolate widow's cry, 
As she presseth the dead one's cheek ; 
When her spirit is faint and weak ; 
Hear thou her sigh ! 
Amen! 

To the wandering oi-phan's moan, 
As he prayeth in chilling fear ; 
Wilt thou banish the orphan's tear — 
Merciful One? 
Amen ! 

To the suppliant scorner's call. 
As he bendeth in sorrow low ; 
On his spirit let mercy flow; 
Let him not fall ; — 
Amen ! 

To the perishing traveller's voice, 
When the tempest is swelling high ; 
Be thy succoring mercy nigh — 
Bid him rejoice; 
Amen ! 
396 



^ 



-==e. 




Poetical Works. 

POEMS or BOYHOOD. 

To tlie desolate mourner's prayer, 
In the palace or prison-cell ; 
Let thine answering mercy tell, 
Thou, God ! art there ! 
Ameu ! 




iN ALLEOOaY FOR A LrTTLK FRIEND, WHO WOULD KNOW THS MBA.NINO OF 



FAREWELL. 



FLORIMEL was an artless, innocent child. 
And loved all Nature. Every little hird 
That chirrup'd in the wood, and every brook 
That capered down the hill-side, she did love ; 
And often you might hear her carolling voice. 
Waking the forest echoes with a song — 
Flute-toned and musical, like her feather'd fi-iends. 

"Well ! 't was a summer's eve ; and Florimel 
(Chasing the butterflies) had wandered far, 
And sunset fell around her. All at once. 
She heard a fluttering, and, looking round, 
Espied a beautiful bird, with golden neck. 
And lovely violet eyes, and starry wings ; 
But he was prison'd in some fowler's net, 
397 






Duganne. 




POEMS OF BOYnOOD. 

And could not rise — but, ever and anon, 

His little wings would flap, and Ms breast heave ; 

And such a pitiful strain he did pour forth. 

It grieved the little maiden's heart to hear. 

Florimel ran to loose him, and the bird 
Turned his soft eyes upon her, and was still ; 
For every living thing did love the maid, 
She was so gentle. 

Soon the net was loosed ; 
And with a joyous flapping of his wings, 
The bird flew, singing, to a hawthorne-bush. 
Close to the maiden's cheek, and rested there. 
Florimel listened, and in wonder, too ; 
For he did call her name, and then, with voice 
Sweet as the tinkling music of a stream. 
He spoke, while tremblingly she gazed at him ; 

Farewell ! 
Beautiful child, gentle and mild, 
Farewell ! 
And when, sweet maiden, thou wouldst seek 

To bless the friends thy heart doth love, 

Be this the word that thou shalt speak, — 

And turn thy seeking eyes above, — 

" Farewell !" 

Well BHALL they fare who hear thy prayer. 

Farewell ! 

Up, in the summer-sunset, flew the bird. 

While Florimel gazed in tearful wonderment. 

398 





r?^ Poetical Works. 



POEMS OF BOYHOOD. 

The maiden turned her to her cottage-home ; 
And, frisking in his gladness, came her lamb — 
The dear pet-lamb — to meet her. Then she led 
Her favorite, by his silken chain of blue. 
Up to his little fold, and bade " Fare well !" 

But the young lambkin gazed into her face 
With a mute love-look, then lay down and — died. 

Florimel's gi'ief broke forth in passionate tears ; 
And, fleeing to her home, she told the tale 
Of her young sorrow to her favorite fi-ieud, 
A silver-throated humming-bird. "But thou!" 
She cried, "thou shalt, at least, fare well !" 

The birdling flapped its little wings, and breathed 
His dj'ing sigh. Then, sad and sorrowful, 
Florimel knelt beside it, and looked up 
Into the twilight-heaven. "Are t\\ej well?" 
She murmured: "Then, too, farewell, Florimel !" 
And, falling down ^^itll her mute favorite. 
She sank to innocent death-sleep, while above. 
The beautiful stranger-bird appeared in heaven. 
And whispered, "All farewell!" 







'JLq^_ 



Duganne. 



NOTES 



^ocms of iSogijoo^. 



WTiere he, the Jirs(, the moniing-marli/r, fell. 
Allusion is here made to the battle of Bunker 
Hill, and the death of Gen. Josojih Warren, 
who commanded the American forces on that 
eventful occasion. 

(2) 

or thrown the ringing duck. 

"Casting the ducque," is a rural pastime 
mnob in vogue in Now England. The game is 
played with rough stones, and is quite distinct 
from quoits. 

(3) 

Bloody Brook. 

This name commemorates the scene of an 
early Indian massacre, where a hundred 
youths— the flower of the land— were out off by 
the savage enemy. 

Thy Webster's 
That mighty v 
Daniel "Web 



(4) 
:eo'erleaps theharo/zonen — 
• ichich panoplied the iceak. 
■n pleaded the cause of Greec 



on the floor of Congress. 

(5) 

Gave to the Pole hit glorious Jiag, unfurled. 

During the Polish struggle of IS30 a banner 
was presented hy citizens of Massachusetts to 
the patriot Poles. 

(6) 
Avaria Tnwws thee, and her de-^ot-king 
Plucksat the lessons from thy breast that spring. 

The Massachusetts system of common schools 
has been imitated in both Austria and Prussia. 

(7) 



(S) 

a teaman's daring ?innd 

Stcept the invading despot from her land. 
Zenobia. Queen of PalmyrJi, (the ancient 
" Tadmor in the Wilderness,") defeated the ar- 
mies of Aurelian many times before she was at 
last compelled to eacoumb to the Roman 






(9) 




\chere T)/olh's gaze explored the skies. 

Tyoth is chronicled as an ancient astrologer 
and monarch of Chaldea. 

(10) 
— — the sunbeam ifemnon's strain aicoke. 
The statue of Memnon, in Egypt, was said to 



emit musical sounds as soo 
morning sun fell upon it. 



Freedom's new Coliseum. 

These apparently prophetic lines were writ- 
ten ten years before the Roman Revolution 
of ISiS. 

(12) 
'—— Thy bold Anninius. 
Arminius, or Herrmann, was a celebrated 
German leader, who defeated the Roman gene- 
ral. Varus, in a pitched battle, A. D. 10, there- 
by expelling the invaders of his country. 

(13) 



- shall not a CiD spring upf 
1, or the Cid, is a celebrated h( 
of Spanish histqry and 



Rodei 
characti 
He fell at the battle of Roncesvalles, 



(14) 

Pflayo's tear-ery. 

On the defeat of Roderick, the last Gothic 
king of Spain, by Tarik the Saracen, and sub- 
sequent overrunning of th.it country by the 
Moors, a small but gallant band of patriots, un- 
der the leadership of Pelagius. or Pelayo, held 
out against the invaders, maintaining them- 
selves in valleys and caverns, and eventually 
founding the realm of Asturias. 

(15) 
Some new Aiphonso. 
Alphouso the Chaste, a descendant of Pelayo, 
was the first Christian ruler in Northern Spain 
who refused to pay tribute to the Moors, after 
it had been exacted for more than a century. 
Under his leadership, the Spaniards drove the 
Saracens from Asturias and Navarre, and com- 
pelled them to limit their dominion to Granada 
and Cordova, whence they wore afterwards 
Anally expelled hy Ferdinand and Isabella. 

(16) 

He wlio found tnth freedom but a grave. 

Count Casihir Pl'laski, a Polish nobleman, 

who volunteered in the American cause, and 

fell at the attack upon Savannah, in 1779. 

(17) 



"^If 





Poetical Works. 




1 n b t ;f. 



Mission of Intellect 11 

PAKT first: 

I. The Vision 13 

II. Apostrophe 22 

III. Pilgrimage 23 

IV. Ordination 27 

part second: 

I. Exordium 29 

II. Invocation 30 

III. Aspiration 34 

Notes 38 

The Year of the People .... 39 

Invocation 41 

I. Thanksgiving Hymn .... 43 

II. The Giant 44 

III. Regeneration 45 

IV. France to Ireland 48 

V. Prayer of Erin 51 

VI. Freedom Baffled 53 

VII. Struggle of the People .... 55 
VIII. Avatar and Flight .... 
401 






Duganne. 

INDEX. ' 

The Year of the People. 

Pago 

IX. Hungary 57 

X. Kome 59 

XI. The Trance 62 

XII. Unconquered 66 

Notes 68 

The Gospel of Labour 69 

Prelude 71 

The Curse and the Blessing ... 73 

The Mystery 74 

The Hope 76 

The Parable 77 

Tyranny the Curse 78 

The Book of Euins .... 79 

The Lesson 80 

The Fate of Despotism .... 82 

The Gospel Eevealed 83 

The Mystery of Creation ... 84 

The True Kepublic 87 

The Iron Harp 101 

The Song of Toil 103 

The Poet's Task 104 

The Poet and the People .... 106 
The Poet to the People . . . .107 

402 



i 




Poetical Works. 



INDEX. 




>-jvHr 



The Iron Harp. 

P«ge 

The Champions of Mankind . . . 109 

The Artisan 110 

Men of Thought 112 

Words of Hope 114 

Life's Odyssey 116 

Past>-Presen1>— Future . . . .117 

The Lament of Pan .... 119 

Live them Down 120 

The Angels 121 

The "World's Lie 124 

Men of my Country .... 126 

Hope ye Alway 127 

The Smithy 127 

The Pauper's Place 129 

The Poor 130 

The Poet 133 

Hope On 134 

The Toiler's Hope 135 

Earth-sharing 136 

Heart and Soul 138 

Trust in God 139 

God and Man 140 

Our Mother Earth 141 

The Unsold Lands 142 

Epigram 143 

The Landless 144 m\ 

403 
=^=-" 





Duganne. 

INDEX. 

The Ikon Harp. 

Page 

Homes for the Homeless . • . 145 

The Acres and the Hands .... 146 

Keep it before the People . . , 148 
The Poor Man's Fatherland . . .150 

"WTio Owneth America's Soil . . . 152 

Epode 154 

Notes 156 

Paenassus in Pillory 157 

]S"otes 216 

Manifest DESTmr 223 

I. Trumpet-Song 225 

n. The Eubicon 226 

ni. Triumph 228 

IV. lo Poean . . " 231 

V. Indemnity 233 

The Maiden of the Shield . . • . . 235 

Part First 237 

Pai-t Second 241 

Part Third 246 

Part Fourth 250 



The Human Heart 
The Home of Song 






Poetical Works. 



The Human Heart. 

The Dream of the Tombstone . . 263 

Memories 266 

LoA^ing Hearts 267 

Midnight iu the Church-yard . . . 268 

Vespers 270 

Recompense 271 

Fantasie 272 

Spirit-Life 274 

Spirit-Love 275 

Seemings 277 

Faith in Love 277 

Ben Yusef 278 

Tlie Three Maries 278 

Love and Friendship 279 

Herre I Love 280 

Canzonet 281 

Anacreontique 282 

Love's Eyes 283 

Love-Song 284 

Absent ....... 285 

TheNourisher 285 

Heart-Mirrors 286 

My Mistresse 287 

The Lost Pleiad 289 

A Loving Life 290 

To One Departed 291 

405 
r^3==- =fn 



^?&=- 



Duganne. 




The Human Heart. 

Page 

Crushed Flowers 291 

The Serpent 292 

The True Vision . . . . . 293 

To a Dying Sister 294 

Metrical Miscellanies 295 

Antediluvium 297 

Caractacus 304 

The Germ of Good 311 

Baronial Times 312 

Plymouth Rock 315 

The Armies 316 

To the Printers 319 

Ode to Powers' Greek Slave . . .320 

An Honest Ballad to John Bull . . 322 

Proverbial Philosophy .... 326 

Ever be Happy 327 

The Autocrat's Triumph . . . .329 

The Prayer of Jesus .... 331 

The Drunkard's Lament .... 333 

Columbus and Garabaldi . . . 336 

Requiem for John Quincy Adams . . 338 

To my Lady 340 

Requiem for a Beloved Child . . . 341 

Notes 342 



--=^ 




Poetical Works. 



INDEX. 




^ Page 

Poems of Boyhood 343 

Massacliusetts 345 

The Nations 360 

"Frangas non Flectes" .... 375 

Blue Eyes 376 

Bells 377 

Evening 378 

The Falling Star 379 

Heart-Seeking 380 

Heai-t-Senses 381 

Midnight 382 

Song of Life 383 

After a Thunder-storm .... 384 

Sleep-Love 385 

Tomb-Flowers 386 

Summer-Musings 387 

The Sword of Washington . . . .388 

To a Fi-iend 390 

To a Friend in Heaven .... 391 

The Unstrung Lute .... 392 

To my Boot 393 

To my Cigar 394 

Epitaph on a Poet 395 

Amen! 396 

FareweU! 397 

Notes 400 




407 




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